Well, Shucky Darn II

Our neighborhood was hit by a microburst last night around 2130. It sounded like a bomb. All of the furniture on the decks was blown about.

Directly by the entrance a building under construction was damaged. The port-a-potty ended up on a neighbor’s lawn.

This type of construction is new to me.

https://www.nudura.com/

The first level had been filled with concrete and didn’t get damaged.

Our building maintenance manager had this observation.

“I saw the contractor pull up, walk around for a few minutes, then drive away to the liquor store”.

Army Coffee, Woke Schools, and Presidential Political Schemes

 My recent posts about strong coffee caused some reaction and also stirred memories of Army coffee circa 1960’s.

 Our unit spent a lot of time in the field and our cooks made coffee in a ten gallon pot. After bringing the water to a boil, they dumped coffee directly into the pot with no filter. The coffee was strong. Most of the grounds settled to the bottom but you always got some in your canteen cup.

 One of our cooks was Michael Machalski, a graduate from Michigan State where he was an offensive guard. A draftee, with a Master Degree in Applied Mathematics, he had “attitude”. Original sent to some esoteric specialty training he decided he didn’t like, he “flunked”. The Army sent him to cook school.

 Mike was 6’3”, a solid 240 lbs, with a prominent jaw and a small forehead. He played the dumb Pollack role to the hilt and relished the reaction it caused.

 Ever unit seems to have a Lieutenant Fuck Up. Ours was named Curtiss and right out of central casting. Arrogant, stupid, and incompetent, he brought his “bride” with him. Shirley liked to sit in their compact station wagon wearing a skirt, and no underwear with her feet on the dashboard. LT Fuck Up seemingly didn’t notice.

One morning on the Rhine River Mike was preparing to dump the morning coffee dregs when LT Fuck Up decided to be “officer”.

He demanded to know what Mike was doing.

“Washing my socks, sir. This is the only way to kill the athletes feet”.

“Is that the men’s coffee”, demanded Lt Fuck Up?

“Yes Sir”, responded Mike.

“You will dump that immediately”, ordered LT Fuck Up.  Too bad he was standing directly in front of Mike who immediately tipped the pot forward and emptied it.

Mike and I were partners in trouble and semi permanent members of the First Sergeant’s “volunteer after duty hours work crew”.  He was a good man to have your back in a bar fight. He was also a damn good cook.

Schools

I like to read opinions about important subjects written by people within. This was on Falsebook.

Brent Walker

neopr4904ap 1gt0c1ct l3A 2 c5Mi:P  · 

For a group of people who likely haven’t stepped foot on an elementary school campus in decades, there seem to be some strong and very misinformed feelings about what goes on there. Kindergarteners aren’t learning about sexual intercourse, Second Graders aren’t being encouraged to explore different genders, and Fifth Graders aren’t being pitted against each other in some sort of guilt-inducing race war. That’s utter nonsense, and the people peddling it are lying to you for votes and ratings.

Instead of raging over the vile hogwash you are being fed, I’d encourage you to make better use of your time by volunteering an hour of your week reading with struggling students, becoming a business partner to help fund different school projects, or signing up to be a substitute teacher once a month. Find your local elementary school and start putting effort into getting to know the staff and students there. We aren’t evil liberals indoctrinating the neighborhood kids with some leftist agenda; we’re real people with big hearts who choose to spend every day working with kids so they better comprehend what they read, explore the world around them, ask questions so they can more fully understand what they see, and live effectively in a community. We tie shoelaces, give hugs to sad seven-year-olds, talk through conflict between fourth-graders, and provide wet paper towels to soothe boo-boos Kindergarteners swear exist but we can’t actually see. We laugh with our kids, eat lunch with them, and give them a feeling of comfort and stability many are missing at home. Sometimes we might even provide the first smile or kind word they’ve gotten that day. And yes, we occasionally lose our cool and raise our voices because the little boogers have gotten on our last nerve and we’re human, for goodness sake.

But mostly we love.

Stop believing the lies, quit demonizing us, and let us do our jobs. Carve out some time in the coming weeks and and make a visit so you can see what really happens in these weird and beautiful little spaces.

 

Aside from his condescending tone, he makes some sense. My response is any woke activities are wrong and the first people to raise hell should be the teacher. Defend your profession and root out the evil!

Paranoia

All predictions are massive losses by the (P)regressives come mid terms. Until then, they control the Legislature. Kamala Harris will resign citing health concerns and Slo Joe will nominate whoever he is told to replace her. The Democrats will swiftly approve. The Slo Joe dies or resigns for health reasons.  Viola, #47. Who will it be?

Disappointed? Read the bloggers on the sidebar. They are real writers.

Lazy Sunday

Lazy Sunday. The damn wind is still blowing and is forecasted to continue into the week. I might as well live in Wamsutter, WY. There are prairie fires burning in several states and most of the areas to the East of the Rockies are red flag zones. Falsebook has several posts seeking help for rural families that have lost everything.

The only information on this photo is Grant. Grant, NE and Grant, KS are not many miles apart. The Scottsbluff, NE airport terminal lost part of the roof.

I’m still pissed about my truck getting backed into. I don’t think I can find a more out of the way place to park.

Coffee. I despise weak coffee. Someone asked if the spoon would stand by itself. My reply was, no, but if left in to long it might dissolve. I do drink it with a spoon of local raw honey.

Given the winter storm damage in other states, guess we should shut up. All we are facing is severe and prolonged drought.

As always, YMMV.

Joker

Nice twist on an old joke. Made me snicker.

A Good Man

He is a first cousin that is the epitome of a peace officer. I hope he wins!

Sometimes good people do run for public office. We need more!

Aztec, NM.

Well, Shucky Darn

A pleasant surprise this morning appeared in our local rag. The reporter wrote about oil and gas development in a way that presented different points of view without much, if any, personal bias.

https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?pli=1#inbox/FMfcgzGpFWPkTqlJTTGsRtRmDRNBfnvg

Weld County is the third largest petroleum producing county in the country and our economy has been hard hit by the (P)regressives who won the last statewide election (Governor, Lt  Governor, Attorney General, Secretary of State, etc) and the Xiden Abomination.

Three things became clear reading this. First, the principal subject was factual. Other than an obscure John Hopkins study, all of the “anti” people were spouting “feelings”. Third, the Loveland mayor evidently doesn’t realize his duty is to serve all the constituents of his town.

In a time when most of what served up by the American Media Maggots (h/t Bloviating Zeppelin)  is propaganda disguised as “news”,  it was a pleasant surprise that a reporter (and his editors) published a factual account of an important issue.

I sent the reporter a congratulatory email, something I rarely do.

In writing this a memory surfaced. A Great Uncle, one Pete Ferrell, had property in Moffat County, CO. On this property was one producing oil well from which he received a royalty from the oil company. While the amount wasn’t enough to make him “rich”, it certainly made his retirement more comfortable.

Uncle Ferrell was a shit stirring gold plated asshole (some who know us as a family might say it is genetic). He delighted in making the lives of the oil company people miserable. One day the regional manager visited him and said, word to the effect,

“Look here asshole. That oil has been in the ground for thousands of years and will stay there until it is pumped. We are closing the well. You will continue to receive your annual lease payment but not one more barrel will be pumped until after your die. Then we will deal with your heirs”.

And so it was.

Is there a lesson here for others?

UPDATE/CORRECTION

Sisty pointed out I used the wrong relative. The oil well story should have said Red Weiss. Pete Ferrell was a great grandfather. Senior moment.

Thoughts on Law Enforcement

YouTube has many clips of citizen’s interacting with law enforcement. Many are First Amendment related encounters. For some people, it seems to be a sport. They do highlight LEOs ignorance of laws and aggressive behaviors.

With many relatives in law enforcement, most retired now, I have mixed feelings. Included, at least in my mind, are probation officers.

To me, they fall into two categories. First, and having my highest respect, are peace officers. Second, who do not have my respect, are “cops”. The YouTubers seem to highlight “cops”.

Now I recognize they deal with assholes, often drunken assholes, and need to deal with the situation at hand. It seldom is a win/win situation.

One of my sons had a serious drinking problem resulting in three DUI arrests. During the third arrest, it took six police officers to subdue him. Whatever steps they had to take I support. He was the cause of the problem and their job was to get him off the road.

Along the way, he had a probation officer that got him sober, kept him sober, and made him toe the line. Results? He no longer drinks. He did well enough to be released early from probation. That was eight years ago. Hasn’t had so much as a ticket since.

One cousin was so rank he was booted off the LAPD force. At the time he was in the Rampart Division during the Rodney King era.

Another cousin had a stellar twenty nine year career and is the nicest person you will ever meet. He also, along with a city policeman, rapidly ended a school shooting/hostage situation in New Mexico. No shrinking violet, he. His wife was an effective probation supervisor and straightened out another cousin. (I have living and dead, 33 or so first cousins)

A cousin’s husband was, in the 1970’s, the only probation officer covering a vast portion of Nevada. When a parolee needed arrested, he had to do it, and often without any backup. He did a good job.

My oldest son is a functional autistic but easily manipulated. When he was seventeen he tried to rob a bar. His weapon of choice was a small tree branch. When two Renton, WA police officers entered the bar, he let out a shriek and charged them. In taking him down and cuffing him, he sustained some scrapes and bruises. When I arrived at the station, both officers were nervous. They visible relaxed when I thanked them for simply restraining him. Their response was appropriate and they would probably have been justified in using deadly force. Dim bar and a screaming man with a weapon charging them probably met the criteria for deadly force. They released him to my custody.

A great example of a peace officer was my late brother in law, a county deputy. Once he was tasked with serving over twenty failures to appear warrants. His response was to contact the individuals and advise them that they needed to turn themselves in. He inquired as to them having someone to watch their children and could they work something out with their employer? Did they need a bail bond referral? He also let them know if they didn’t promptly take care of their warrant, he would be back to arrest them. Only two or three didn’t promptly and voluntarily turn themselves in at the county jail.

Before entering the service in 1963 I lived in Denver. At that time, seventy two (10 % of the force) Denver police officers were sent to prison for operating a burglary ring. People, in the know, told me the reason organized crime hadn’t gained much of a foothold in Denver was the police force ran things. The burglars were the ones who couldn’t get into the good stuff.

Other than professional truck drivers, I’ve probably driven far more miles than the average citizen. Regarding speed limits as advisory, I’ve had numerous interactions with law enforcement. I’ve always made sure to take steps to lessen the tension all LEOs have approaching a vehicle. My windows are down, the interior light on at night, hands on the wheel, and license and paperwork readily at hand. Only on a few occasions have I dealt with “badge happy” officers.

Once on Hwy 287 in Oklahoma I was stopped. After the preliminary stuff, the officer said, “Mr. White, it is eight miles to Texas. Do you think you can do the speed limit until you leave Oklahoma? With my affirmation he sent me on my way. A few days later, returning to home, I stopped in Boise City, OK for coffee and bladder relief. Exiting the car I head,

“Mr. White, I’m happy to see you doing the speed limit”. Turning, I saw the patrolman sitting in his cruiser.

“Why officer, I didn’t see you”.

“We hide”, he responded.

That is a peace officer!

This isn’t my first blog on this subject. The search engine, for those interested, will bring up at least four posts.

One of my sister’s adopted daughters had a nearly thirty year career with the Sheriff department. Starting as a jail warden, during a time when females faced many obstacles, she rose to being a patrol sergeant. As a detective she solved a decades old cold case murder. The perpetrator now sits in a Colorado prison.  A slim 5’4”, too many people underestimate her. She has a steel core while remaining as nice a person as you would care to meet.

My principal disdain is reserved for the FBI. As near as I can see, they are political hacks who occasionally solve a crime.  I made a specific post about the FBI and the actions of one of their agents.

https://wellseasonedfool.blogspot.com/search?q=fbi

My good fortune is not dealing with any other feds, excluding the Border booth warmers.

Our society is a better place when we have peace officers and justice. Justice being swift, sure and color blind. Utopia, I know, but working towards that should be our goal, IMO.

As always, YMMV.

 

Golden Shellback

In response to my question, LL (Virtual Mirage) indicated my father was a Golden Shellback having crossed the International Dateline, the Pacific Equator, the Indian Equator and the Atlantic Equator lines during WWII. He did this as a soldier.

First off he traveled from the West Coast on a converted passenger liner to India via Australia. After the war ended he traveled from India on a Liberty ship with a stop in South Africa to the East Coast.

He didn’t enjoy his voyages. The troop ship was overcrowded. On the Liberty ship, underway from South Africa, the bow split open. He said they made the rest of the voyages traveling astern at around three knots and nearly ran out of food.

Drafted into the Army, he was trained in Chemical Warfare at Aberdeen, Maryland before being sent overseas. In India, he was transferred to the Army Air Corps where he was assigned to Graves Registration at a base in the Assam Valley. He has a gift for languages (and math, do they go hand in hand?) and soon became fluent in whatever dialect of Hindu spoken in the region. You may have seen pictures of elephants loading barrels into airplanes. He supervised the crews doing that.

As an aside, somewhere around 1950 my parents took me to the circus. We were walking by a row of elephants when my father walked up to one, started talking to the handler, and was soon stroking the elephant. He had a way with animals.

A sister and brother in law owned a longshore service company in Portland. While he was visiting them they were invited to dinner aboard a Indian crewed merchant ship unloading in Portland. This was around 1970 and my father immediately made friends by speaking Hindu. When asked by the brother in law, the ship captain affirmed my father was completely fluent in Hindu. He was also able to speak and understand Rocky Mountain Spanish (Mexican) and Navajo.

He was a man of many talents who would try his hand at anything, something he passed on to his children. What he wasn’t, was a graceful loser, especially when his children won. When we played chess, he conceded by kicking over the board. When my sister beat him swimming, she immediately got in the truck instead of getting dressed as she didn’t want to walk home.

He died in his 60’s from undiagnosed sleep apnea. My biggest regret is his grandsons didn’t have his influence growing up.

Bridgeport, Nebraska is not Politically Correct

Gasp! Somebody might be offended!

Need a used part? 20 acres of used farm equipment.

An important place on both the Oregon and Gold Rush Trails, there is some interesting history.

Today was a 457 mile jaunt through Wyoming, the Nebraska Panhandle, and Colorado. A business trip – I will be paid. We have had four days of sustained 40+ mph winds and more weather coming in so today was a weather window. As you can see below, a later start in the day wouldn’t have made for a fun drive.

Some of my work involves driving dirt farm roads and my choice of tires reflects that. Mud!

Banner spent the day at my sister’s house where he is treated better than at our apartment. He has access to a back yard, two or more dogs for company, and several adults for pets and treats. He does give me the courtesy of acting happy to see me when I pick him up.

The picture below was copied from the Falsebook page of my sister’s sister by a different mother.

The commentary.

From wheat and corn fields, now sand and dunes. These fields typically are full of crops each year. The drought and now high winds are wreaking havoc on them. We even have sand drifting across our highway that has to be plowed by the county. You can see the tire tracks on the sand which is on top of pavement. Wow…we have never before seen this in our area.

This area was settled mainly by Germans from Russia. The Great Depression coupled with the Dust Bowl force most off the land. Always a risky business, dry land farming isn’t for the weak. The foundations from their buildings still can be found next to the dead deciduous trees they planted and nurtured. Said tree were killed off in the late 1990’s by Dutch elm disease.

As always, YMMV.

F*** You, Tree Huggers

Perhaps a rant follows.

My 1986 Mitsubishi Mighty Max pickup has failed the Colorado Emission test now twice. Under the standards prior to January 2022 it would have passed easily. I cannot renew my registration and cannot legally drive it on public roads after the end of this month.

Never designed to run on ethanol contaminated gasoline, two years ago the carburetor was rebuilt. These are very complex carburetors and the only place I found to rebuild it was in Florida. Complex also for removal and installation meant having a professional mechanic do the work. Total cost? Just under $1,000.

OK Superstar car salesman WSF, you spent a grand on a $700 sled? Yes, because I like it. It is the third Mitsubishi Mighty Max I’ve owned.

Now I must spend, and document, $200 in “repairs” to receive a waiver. Problem is, there is very little you can do to a carburetor fed engine to reduce emissions below a certain point.

Dump my problem on someone else? Under Colorado law I will still be responsible for it meeting emission standards.

All of this is because the fucking eco freaks, in their profound wise thinking, want all old vehicles off the highway. This is but one step to eventually make everyone use public transportation.

What frosts my ass is these eco freaks build nothing but manage to live off the sweat of those who do build things. Add to that, their smug self righteousness and belief that their superior knowledge gives them the authority to dictate to us lesser mortals (for our own good, of course).

Now I will once again become a scofflaw. I will find a willing mechanic who will replace my front shocks and give me a receipt for tune up work.

 

.03 Springfields Still Serving

 https://www.facebook.com/Boiling-Springs-Njrotc-Bulldogs-503284669866546/videos/pcb.2424659921062335/367236922125625

Practice, practice! A grandaughter is in the video (blonde in the rear rank). 

Reflections on Mortality

Yesterday Banner’s “Treat Lady” was taken by ambulance to a hospital where she died. Not unexpected in a 92 unit senior housing apartment. She is the third resident to die in the past thirty days.

The reflection part comes from considering one’s personal obligations to others and one’s self as we age. This woman had a demanding selfish side and a refusal to make an effort to improve her health. Most of the residents here will help each other as needed. Such help is voluntary and freely given. What changes is when the help is demanded. This woman ended her days sitting alone in her apartment.

This building, prior to COVID, was becoming a vibrant community. Then came two years of isolation. Slowly the community part is coming back. Informal gatherings for conversations are becoming the norm. The jigsaw puzzle fanatics are busy. A pool table was donated and sees a lot of use. The Coven is back with their dice game. What is required of an individual is to get off their asses and make the effort to join in. This is where Arlene, the “Treat Lady” didn’t do her part.

For my part, I occasionally drove Arlene in her van around town and would bring her groceries up to her apartment. Others would take her trash to the dumpster. All of us became weary of her demands.

At what point do we stop being our brother’s and sister’s keeper? What obligation has the “brother or sister” to those around them?

Medical science keeps me alive by means of a CPAP and pacemaker. My biggest fear is becoming a burden on others, having been fiercely independent my entire life.  Someone’s death always makes me reflect on my life and how I interact with others. To the extent possible, my affairs are in order.

Last night sitting in the lobby chatting with neighbors, I watched Arlene’s two adult sons and one daughter-in-law cross the lobby after coming from her apartment. Their body language spoke of their pain and anger, not sadness. My hope is, when my time comes, my family won’t feel the same.

 

A Drop In The Bucket

 BZ (http://bloviatingzeppelin.net/) coined the term, American Media Maggots. That came to mind this morning reading the lead sentence in a “news” article from the Denver Post.

People won’t be able to flaunt their firearms within 100 feet of a polling place under a law signed by Gov. Jared Polis on Wednesday.

My county went 70% for Trump in the last election. Greeley, the county seat, is blue in part because of the local teacher’s college, aka University of Northern Colorado. The local rag would like to be blue but needs to cater to local prejudices. Their way around this is to reprint shit from other newspapers who are not so constrained.

“Flaunt”?

Television news? Haven’t owned a television for several years. When reading something on the internet and encounter a pay wall I pass that source and move on. I do spend $4.93 to subscribe to the local rag. In spite of themselves, they occasionally publish local information I can use.

Is there a point to all this, WSF? Just this, I will not support financially propaganda media. Yes, it is only a tiny drop in the bucket, but it is my drop.

As always, YMMV

The picture was swiped from a leftist propaganda rag. Gives me a warm fuzzy feeling