I'm Lactard and I'm Proud

I was going to close my last post with this little tidbit, and then I was gonna open with it.  And then it grew into its very own post. 

But I think it's really important because I believe at least one of you, if not more, might be lactose intolerant.  And if I can rescue another lactose intolerant individual, then an apparent gastronomic intestinal mission might be fulfilled.  

I am a lactard, my darling daughter's affectionate term for my dietary predicament, which is that I am lactose intolerant.  Most dairy does not sit well with me, at all.  And I think, especially looking at the antacid section in any pharmacy or store, that a lot more people are but they just don't know it. 

I was probably lactose intolerant for a good five years before I became lactose aware.  I sort of grew into it I guess.  I used to always have a pack of Rolaids with me, in addition to the ever present chap stick and pocket knife.  And then one day, while working one of the way too many home and garden shows I did for a while, a friend and co-worker mentioned that I should eat some yogurt or something.  He said that I shouldn't have to be eating Rolaids all the time and that I needed some good culture in my gut down there.  

I certainly couldn't argue with that.

When I got home I bought a couple yogurts.  You know, good culture!  Half way through the first one my stomach went south, and a light went on up north.  And then began a fairly huge diet change which took several months.  A lot of trial and error and a lot of label reading.

Just what is lactose intolerance?  In simple terms,

It is an inability to digest lactose, a type of sugar in milk.

Very common (More than 3 million cases per year in US)

Diagnosis rarely requires lab test or imaging

Can often be self-treated

Can last several years or be lifelong

It can be caused due to a genetic problem or an underlying condition. Abdominal pain, bloating, flatulence, and diarrhea are the common symptoms. There is no cure except to maintain a lactose-free diet.

I wasn't always a lactard.  I was more like a ice cream junkie.  So, obviously lactose intolerance can develop over time.  In case you were wondering.

How did lactose intolerance present for me?  Mostly a burning, acidy stomach, like you just ate a half dozen habaneros.   And diarrhea, in many cases.

The burning doesn't make sense, right?  It will feel like you just ate Mexican, with a lot of salsa.  You'd expect a milkshake would soothingly coat your stomach against the burning fire inside.  Not so if lactose intolerant.  It's like pouring gas on that fire.

I used to take my coffee loaded, with cream and sugar.  Followed by a Rolaids an hour later.  My intestines were going south right out of the gate, every dang day.

I have adapted to a mostly non-dairy diet, and it's not really a big deal.  I can tolerate butter just fine, which is good because I won't put margarine in my body.  And I love me some butter.  But cheese is bad.  And cream is really bad.
  

I do pizza without cheese, it's fine.  And I've pretty much omitted all the creamy and cheesy dishes that exist, much to the chagrin of my lovely wife.

You learn to adapt.  And since I like to cook and bake I have come up with a number of solutions that I will share with you.  And a number of commercial providers, like Ben and Jerry's, have gotten on the lactard bandwagon.

Also, a cheesemaker called "Finlandia" makes "naturally lactose free" Gouda, Swiss, Muenster and a couple others.  You can find that at Raley's and sometimes Grocery Outlet if you live locally.  When I discovered them a year or so ago that brought back grilled ham and cheese sandwiches to my life, which I apparently did miss and had not eaten for about twelve years.

I use lactose free milk exclusively.  I'm not a big fan of almond, flax or other vegetable or fruit milks.  None of them cook or bake as well as your basic lactose free milk does.  And it lasts weeks longer in your fridge than regular milk does.  My lovely wife can taste a difference, I can't.  Probably because I won't try the real stuff at all anymore.

And I discovered a few years back that you can substitute soft silk tofu equally for whip cream in most cream pie recipes.  And they are now making a lactose free cream cheese.  The flavor is a bit lacking though, so you need to add a little more sugar if you bake with the cream cheese.
.

There is also an enzyme that can break down lactose, which you can find at any health food store or pharmacy.  So if you make a mistake, or just have to have that quesadilla or latté, you're covered.  

So one evening a while back I was having dinner with my son.  We were eating a great gumbo at the Elks Club, where we both had mutual friends that are members.  The gumbo roux was phenomenal, and I was certain there had to be cream in it, because it was so phenomenal.  If so, no big deal.  I had lactose tablets in the car.  (One item I do not travel without.  Pretty much anywhere.)

And that got my son and I gut talking.  When he described what was going on in his gut, acid and Rolaids,  I said it sounded like lactose intolerance.  And he didn't believe it.  For some reason, how lactose intolerance presents is incongruous with the term dairy.  Go figure.  He started toying with his diet and sure enough, he is now a confirmed lactard too.

Which means I now have an ally for cheese free lasagna, and maybe eventually Mom's amazing clam chip dip.  Actually, because her grandson is now a lactard we rated this Thanksgiving and Mom made two dips.  We had our own (smaller) bowl of her famous clam dip, lactose-free .  Hadn't had that in fifteen years or so, it was great!

Yeah, I have to admit, there are some things you have to do without.  Many times I can't have dessert at a restaurant because they're all cream based.  And even though the lactase tablets help, it can still be a bother.  Also, the degree of dairy effects vary from lactard to lactard..   

So, if you are constantly eating antacid tablets, or that lethal purple pill, or you know someone who does, it's really really easy to verify if dairy is the culprit.  Eat some dairy.  You'll usually feel the effects within minutes.

Then don't eat diary. See what happens.  Pretty simple.

And if you are, it's not a death sentence.  But I would get some lactase tablets right away. That way as you adapt your diet you have a bottle of mistake pills.

Good luck.

Oh, and by the way, you'll probably drop an easy ten pounds.  That's one of the side benefits of no more mac and cheese.

The old homestead is rolling along.  I've got all our winter wood put up, and oh hey, a new wood stove to burn it in!  Our old blue enameled Vermont Castings, while a heritage item, was over thirty years old.  And double door'd.  And I'd had been having trouble getting the doors to seal properly. And I could never get it to dampen down really good so I could get a log to burn all night.  And so on.  And so forth.

We bought our new stove from A-1 Stoves here locally, and it is entirely more efficient.  Plus the black color matches the red, white and black of the brick hearth surrounding.  The old royal blue enamel never fit in.

We were going to buy from the highly locally rated Sierra Timberline.  But the price went from $3,500 when we talked to the guy at the fair to over $5,100 when we talked to the same guy about the same stove a week later at their store.  And that included the fair discount.

So we went to A-1 and spent under three grand for a fabulous Iron Strike wood stove.  And the no pressure sales guy also informed us we could probably sell our old stove, which we did for $750.00.  So you probably know who we're gonna recommend.  Plus follow-up and install were top notch.  They've already been five star Yelped!

If you've been watching the Dow, like I have, you may be coming to the conclusion that there's something happening out there.  Those that stayed in the market have seen their portfolios drop 10-20% over the last few weeks. And, if you believe like I do that another real estate crash is coming, there are a couple paper plays you can make.  But by no means should this ever be considered investment advice, cause I'm not an investment guy.  I'm simply sharing a few of the moves that I be making.

These are similar to what the guy did in the movie "The Big Short", only you'll be doing it probably in a lot smaller way.  BUT, it does give the little guy a chance to place a bet on the market.

Here they are:

SRS-ProShares UltraShort Real Estate
REK-ProShares Short Real Estate
DRV-Direxion Daily MSCI Real Est Bear 3X ETF

We have an interest in all three.

It is now a little after 5 Am PST.  I am going under the arthroscopic knife for my shoulder with my new surgeon in about six hours.

Bon Appetit!

Surgical Madness and Farmer's Market Drivers

Looking back, I see I left you all hanging, on pins and needles no doubt, with my torn meniscus thing, which I actually injured a year ago in November, 2017.

I did have successful surgery on that in late May of this year, and my knee still appears to be doing well. I did go down on it hard up on the hill a couple weeks after surgery though when I weed whacked over an ancient ant hill and fourteen thousand of them little critters started zooming up my two legs.  That got my immediate attention, and I moved quite rapidly, much like anyone would move if being attacked by an army of merciless no doubt killer and zombie ants. I tripped in the process.

But the meniscus is torn or agitated by twisting, and this was a straight down shot, so the meniscus is fine. Now I just have this uncomfortable lump on my shin that should go away in a year or two.

Probably.

So while I was recovering from knee surgery I was taking it easy.  Quite properly, as I should.  I definitely did not go out and play rugby, go ballroom dancing or take on some form of mixed martial art.  Not that I could.  The best art I can come up with is yard, and I mostly buy that stuff.

One afternoon I was hanging up clothes, easy enough.  Level ground, back lawn.  About five feet from the utility room.  As I was hanging, with clothes pins of course, a dish cloth dropped.  My left arm, the one that wasn't engaged, moved down deftly and rapidly to catch the escapee.  In doing so, I felt a major twinge in my left bicep.

"Ooooh," thought I, "that's not good."

The next day I dead lifted a fifty pound bag of chicken feed.  As soon as I made the vertical lift up I heard a loud "snap" and I felt immediate and very sharp pain in same said left bicep.

"Wow," thought I.  "That's not good either."

The next day I was down in my lovely wife's cut flower garden and noticed one of the drip "t's" needed a little tightening.  Obviously not thinking like an injured and civilized human being with half a brain, I twisted the connection.  With my left hand of course.

Annd another loud "snap", came my way, emanating from the same said left bicep location.

Here's one thing I have learned.  It's never a good thing when you hear body parts snap.  Nor does it feel good.  It's a good thing I was already on my knees cause I would have ended up there anyway.  It was also good thing I had already made an appointment with my orthopedic office the day before during the post op appointment for my knee.

This bit of inconvenience has not been quite as bad as what happened to my right arm nine years ago when I severed my right bicep tendon.  I know, I know.  Weak tendons apparently run in my family.  My Uncle had some issues and so has my brother.  It's a genetic thing.  There's no other explanation.

Anyway, I was helping a friend's daughter move a sofa downstairs and while maneuvering a corner I felt a pretty decent "twinge" in my right bicep.  Not a snap, but a twinge.

About two weeks later I was at the driving range warming up for a round of nine on our favorite back woods cow paddy country almost a golf course.  I was swinging an easy seven iron.  The first two went nice and smooth.  During the third swing I felt my right bicep go "boinnnnng".

I know.  Twinge, snap, twinge.  Boing.  What's this discourse coming to?

My right bicep immediately began to swell, to epic proportions.  Then, three days later I was on the road.  I reached towards the rear seat to grab my backpack.  With my right arm.  Cause my left arm was driving.  During the lift I felt something bad in an already painful situation, like a stretch gone too far.  The pain was so intense I had to pull over.  Which I should have done to begin with.

With that last movement my entire right arm was soon black and blue.  My entire arm!

But wait, there's more.

That weekend my lovely wife and I were flying to San Diego to see the kids.  My arm was in a sling, because I, uh, didn't want to continue injuring it.  We were in the security line, just about there.  Since my arm was in a sling, I tried to take off my shoes with my feet.  You know, the old toe to heel action.

As soon as my left toe hit my right heel, or the other way, I felt a snap in my right hamstring.  I went down immediately, like a drunk on ice skates.

So there I was, creating chaos.  And there's something you should know about me.  I really do not like attracting attention, really.  I am a confirmed and bona fide blender.  I thrive on passing through public places and life in general completely unnoticed.  Yet there I was, on the ground, one arm in a sling, flopping about like a fish.   And there were people everywhere.

Barnum and Bailey just brought their greatest show on earth to the security line at Sacramento International Airport and it was me.

The guy behind me was great.  He immediately bent down to help as this floppy fish was endeavoring to get back upright.

My lovely wife, on the other hand, hearing the circus, er, commotion, turned around, looked down, and asked, "What are you doing down there?"

I definitely lost style points that day.  But, in the process, I gained remarkable relationship currency.

I was able to get through security and took stock.  My right hamstring was swelling like a helium balloon and I was limping like a three legged tortoise.  But that wasn't getting in the way of a San Diego weekend.  Besides, I think it was a special grand kid occasion.

I didn't have health insurance at the time, but I still went to an urgent care outfit with our daughter as soon as we hit the ground.  The doctor who saw me tried to ascertain if there was something going on, like, weird connective tissue issues, because all this was happening at once.

"Or," he said, as he shrugged, "it could just be timing and bad luck."

As it turns out, both observations were correct.

I got a twenty per cent discount cause I paid cash.  And that paid for the pain pills.  My entire right arm and entire right leg were black and blue.  Together, for about a week.  I think I walked lop-sided for that week since there was an extra ounce of black and blue on one side.  And I probably could have started some sort of weird tattoo trend.  You know, dye one half your body blue.  Au natural.

I finally got an MRI on my shoulder on June 20th.  It showed there are some rotator cuff issues as well as a major "impingement" hampering most movement.  Which makes sense.  That's where the majority of pain is constantly emanating from.  The rotator cuff only barks with certain movements.
And then there's the bicep's tendon, which isn't really there anymore.  It essentially just disappears.

I saw the doc, Dr. Mario Luna, by the way, on June 25, 2018.  He gave me a gave cortisone shot, which did not work at all.  During the follow-up appointment a week later, it was decided we would go for surgery.  He stated at that time it would be late July or early August, roughly four to five weeks out.  Seemed reasonable.

July came rolling around and I heard nothing.  Finally, the last week of July I started calling his office.  I left two messages without a return call, and then on my third attempt I magically get Melissa, the office manager and surgery scheduler.

Wah-lah!  Lucky me thought I.  I identified myself and she started looking at the schedule.

And then she said I was on for October 9th.

And I said, "Excuse me?"

And she said, "October 9th."

To which I responded, "But the surgeon said..."

To which she responded, "Well, I do all the scheduling and I should know. The surgeon's always give optimistic time frames."

Somewhat snippy, as a matter of fact.  It was a painful August.  And September.

But as late September came rolling in things started happening.  I had to do some pre-op stuff.  Blood work, EKG, chest x-ray.  Bam!  Boom!  Done!

I was done with the pain and limited movement.  I was ready to go.  The date actually got moved in mid-September, by Melissa again, from the 9th to the 11th.  Which was fine.  I was totally OK with that.  Two days, meh.

I had a pre-op scheduled with the surgeon the morning of the 10th.  After that I was going to the local outpatient surgery center at the hospital for their pre-op routine.

Then I was scheduled to arrive for surgery at 7:30 AM on the 11th , ready to get on with my life.

Tuesday afternoon, the 9th, I got a phone call from Melissa.  The surgeon's wife had just gone into pre-mature labor that morning and had to have an emergency C-section.  Dr. Mario Luna rushed to be at her side.

OK.  I get that.  I was a little disappointed to be sure, but that's part of the reason he's a doctor.  To provide for his family and be there for occasions such as this.

"So when will I be put back on the schedule?"  I inquired, assuming I ought to be somewhat close to first on his list.  Maybe a week or two.

And she said, "The first week of December."

And I said, "Excuse me?"

I felt like my insides had just been kicked out.  And she carried on about paternity leave, knew something like this was going to happen and so on and so forth.

I probably tuned her out, cause, you know, my insides had just been kicked out.

I called her back later that day.  I told her to put me on the schedule.  First week of December.  With Dr. Fuckhead.

I was a victim the rest of that day.  Cause my insides had just been kicked out.  But I also discovered while I wallowed, I did not like being a victim.  So I stopped.

The next day I did some research and found another highly rated orthopedic outfit in Auburn, just down the road.  I got the referral from my GP, who was astounded Dr. Fuckhead had put me on hold until December.

I went and got copies of my MRI and other pre-op records.  Bam.  Boom.  An appointment was made and I saw Dr. Greg Lichtman on October 22nd.

He explained in substantially greater detail than Dr. Fuckhead what was going on with my shoulder.  He also said I have taken all the appropriate steps before contemplating surgery, eg cortisone and even physical therapy a year ago.  Surgery is scheduled for November 27th.  Done.

As far as Dr. Fuckhead is concerned?  He can go fuck himself.  He didn't even make a phone call.

Fool me once shame on you.  Fool me twice, fuck you.  With a capital K.

I will be proffering up a couple, um, rather scorching reviews for him on Health Grades and Yelp.  I mean, how does a physician, in any kind of conscious, leave a patient on hold for five months while the patient is in constant pain?  What's that oath?  Do no harm?

As long time readers are aware, I've got a problem with most drivers out there.  I've been screaming about slow-goes in the left (or passing) lane for years now.  And of course my pettest driving peeve has to do with the morons that flip on their turn signal as they are turning.

Like, why bother?  If you're already there just don't do it.  You're insulting your intelligence.

Back in my youth, when encountering slow drivers that weren't paying attention, my mother would say "They're driving like an old lady in a Cadillac."

OLIC

Then, when I was on the outside sales road in the 1990's into 2000's, the worst drivers on the road happened to be mothers in mini-vans.  They got extra points if they were on the phone, which half of them were.

MIVWP

I have a new one.  "You're driving like you're going to a Saturday Morning Farmer's Market.  In a Subaru."

SMFMIS

We live down the road from a Saturday morning farmer's market by the way.

In case you were wondering.

I also came up with a fabulous torture technique, as if the dark, deep state type guys haven't already thought it up.  Play on food allergies.  That is, if you're subject has any.  Otherwise, just start pulling toe nails.

Take me, for instance.  I'm lactose intolerant.  If you want to learn something from me, well, first of all, ask.  I've got no secrets and I really don't know anything about nothing.  Ever.  At all.

But if you really want to make me talk, threaten me with some cheddar.  Or Mozzarella.  Take one of them cans of whipped cream and shake it real good next to my mortified head.  I'll talk.  I'll give you more than you ever wanted to know.

Speaking of cheese, I have a really funny cheese story.  I may have mentioned it before, but it's been a while, so I'm gonna plead poetic insanity.

Back in my senior year of high school, some way too many years ago, I took a boy's chef class.  Twice.  Not because I didn't pass the first time, but because I had plowed like crazy through all my required courses my first three years and subsequently needed an extra elective each semester of my Senior year.  Otherwise I'd have only been in school for three periods.

It was that or sewing, and I have big thumbs.

Boy's chef was first period, and one morning we learned about cheese.  One thing I learned was that an instructor should not expose warped teenage male minds to the pungent aroma of Limburger Cheese.  Ever smell that, let alone eat it?

A compadre and I, the same compadre I drank a bottle of Annie Green Springs wine with in the same classroom, managed to walk out of class with a couple pieces of Limburger.

We took it to our next class, which we also shared together, Mythology.

See?  I told you I had some time to kill.

As we chatted with classmates here and there in the couple minutes before the bell rung, we also tore off little pieces of cheese and mushed them under the desks.  Much like you would with gum.  We did this under about a dozen desks all over the room.

A couple periods later I walked by the room.  The door was open.  A number of desks were stacked outside.  A dozen I think.  Mythology was held out on the soccer field for the rest of that day.  Larry and I still laugh about that.  Never got caught.  Never were suspect.

In closing this latest round of madness, it is with sadness that I announce the last two hens from our original flock of twelve, circa 2012, have moseyed on into that great green open meadow in the sky.  They were almost 7 years old.

The average age of backyard hens is 5 to 8 years.  Cause I know you were just wondering that thought.

One preceded the other by about a week, and the rest of the younger flock respected them both during their final hours and let them die in peace.  Chickens can be quite Darwinian at times, pecking and hacking at injured and dying members of the flock.  Survival of the fittest.  Watching too many poultry cannibal flicks.

Or, maybe they just like chicken.  Everyone else seems to.

Not so in this case.  Our last Buff Orpington was down for about a day and a half before she passed.  Everyone left her alone.  There was respect.

I visited with her several times during the process, and I definitely feel quite melancholy.  There's been a lot of feathers lost since those first twelve came to our door.  Predators, disease and age.  All of which has educated this old man and most of which has been chronicled in previous pages on this website.

I have been able to adapt and deal with both the predators and disease.  I haven't quite got the age thing handled yet.  If anyone comes up with a solution for that please let me know.  You may have a looming fortune on your hands.

Autumn 2018

It seems a bit strange to be back here after so long an absence.  I really thought I was heading in a different direction-which I am-only everything always seems to take so much longer than I anticipate.

Take the economic crash of 2008 for instance.  I was on top of that as early as 2005, and we ended up doing pretty good through that ordeal.  Now take the economic crash of 2018, only, see, it's not quite here yet.  It is coming, the rumblings have started.  Check the Dow.

Annnd housing's starting to stack up, more listings on the market.  So, you know, if you're looking to buy some real estate, wait.

I know, I know, everyone has an opinion, and most of them are wrong.  So why am I right, then?  Trust me.  Wait!  I don't opinionate that often, but when I do, I am mostly always right.

Put 10-20% of your portfolio into some physical precious metals, etfs and/or some mining stocks.  Maybe toss a couple thousand into some cannibis penny stocks.  I have what I think are a few "hot" ones.  PM me if interested.

And most definitely put some stops in on your blue chip income producing stocks, maybe 5-10% under where they are today.  Or 20% if you want to lose that much.  And get out of bonds, get into cash.  Yeah, I know, it pays nothing.  Well, you'll thank me later when you have the money available to pick up stocks and real estate at a substantially reduced price from where they are today.

As I started saying, before I became so utterly distracted, I just, um, revisited this site, my site, after about a six month absence.  Unbeknownst to me I have still been getting a couple hundred page views a month without any new material.  It ain't huge, but it does mean I have an audience.  And so I humbly apologize.

Who knew?  Least of all me.  So if you are a fan (thank you) you'll be happy to note I am back.  At least once a month.  Maybe more.  I just don't want to get boring.  I guess if I keep interjecting enough crazy it'll stay entertaining.

What else have I been doing?

The most recent seismic shift had to do with my father-in-law's passing a month or so ago.  Besides being the main dude within our immediate family nucleus he was also the patriarch of a pretty large consortium of folks that I still do not know all the names of.

He was internationally renowned in industrial and business relations, one of the most ethical business men in Silicon Valley in the 1980-1990's according to the business editor of the San Jose Bee.  Truly a great man.  He will be sorely missed.

He had been suffering from Alheizmer's, but then he also got hit with one of Al's nasty cousins, Lewy Body.  Ted Turner just brought national attention to Lewy Body Dementia, I think he was kind of making light of it, that it is not as bad as Alzheimer's.

Um, trust me Ted, it is no laughing matter as you will eventually not discover.

My in-laws had also theoretically taken care of their estate planning and final wishes.  Only the place they chose-one of the most expensive retirement care places in the Bay Area-ended up failing them when they needed them the most.

And that put the immediate family in the cross hairs when the shit hit the fan in June.  Mom, the 84 year old primary caretaker (who has had three hip replacements in almost as many years) of the rapidly diminishing 85 year old dementia patient essentially had a nervous breakdown when Dad went off the rails due to lack of proper psychotropic medication.  Both ended up in the hospital.

And then it was three agonizing months of a front line all hands on deck crisis care giving family situation that didn't really subside until Dad passed away.

I would also like to give a shout out to a couple organizations, A Place for Mom and Hospice.   When the firestorm started and we could not get Dad into the memory care unit of the facility they were residents of, we learned there were essentially no beds available in the Bay Area for memory care, or dementia patients.

So we thought maybe we could move him up to our location in the foothills, if only for a short period of time, until a facility opened up in the Bay Area.   To that end I called A Place for Mom, the organization I used a decade or so ago when I was looking for a place for my Mom.  After describing our situation with the very receptive and caring area representative, I received a phone call within thirty minutes from a place that had a bed.

I won't go into all the sordid details, but over the next couple months the family stayed in crisis and went back and forth as far as Dad's care was concerned.  What ended up happening was he stayed in their two bedroom cottage with twenty-four hour professional care.  As well as family members filtering in and out on a constant basis.  Fortunately Mom was still recovering from her ordeal in the wellness unit of their facility, so she had a sheltered and safe environment with which to recover.

Let me tell you, Lewy Body brought on some very bizarre behavior from a generally conservative gentleman.  At all hours of the day and night.  Where Alzheimer's patients tend to be rather sedate while they slip away, Lewy Body patients can be very physically active while they slip away.  We discovered Lewy Body can be a very formidable form of dementia.

Fortunately, Dad was rushed to the hospital with an a-fib heart condition on September 3rd.  That's what ultimately took him.  He was sent home under hospice care on the 4th.

Under Hospice's direction, a hospital bed was set up in the cottage living room, which I thought was wonderful.  Even though he was asleep 80% of the time his subconscious and spirit could still dance with familiar voices and sounds.  Rather than a somber and subdued back bedroom location, he was still a part of a much more lively scene.  And there he stayed until he left us all on the 12th.

My lovely wife and I went down on the 4th, planning on only staying four days.  But after a consult with his physician on the day we were going to leave, in which he gave Dad 48-72 hours, we decided to stay.

And here I have to give a huge shout out to Amber, our Ace, of Pet, Plant and Home.  She stepped it up and managed to care for all our plants and critters at a very hot and critical time of the year.  A time of year where missing a plant for a day can mean certain death.

I got a lot of stuff going on here. There's a reason why we only travel fall through spring, it's cause the summer is hot and I got a lot of stuff going on.  Even automatic drip systems have to be checked periodically, and I have eight or ten of them spread out all over this hill.  And there's a lot of plants not on a drip.  I left her instructions for four days, not ten.  

We had a few phone consults, and she even brought up a couple of newly planted roses I had forgotten about.  Without Amber, I could not have maintained my role, which was support and comic relief.

I don't know what folks do that don't have a large, loving family.  There were anywhere from five to seven immediate family members on hand at all times, plus a 24 hour professional care giver.  Everyone was busy.  Constantly.  For days.

His final departure was beautiful.  He was surrounded by nothing but love, with his wife of 66 years at his bedside, holding his hand.  Three of four daughters looking on adoringly.  It was poignant.  It was lovely.  It was surreal.

There was grief.  And relief.  We had been watching this horrible disease slowly take him away these last couple years, and we were also witness to his valiant effort to retain some form of self.  He was a great man, The Man, as his eldest grandson, our son, said in a tribute at his memorial service.  He will be missed by many, yet his legacy will forever live on.

A lot of folks, when they are faced with some sort of major problem or dilemma, or life catastrophe,  they have to look out in the world for morals, guidance or advice.  And they might ask,

"What would Jesus do?"

"What would Gandhi do?"

"What would Tony Robbins do?"

"What would Tony Danza do?"

All I have to ask is, "What would Dad do?"

By the way, Dad was king of corny jokes.

Our invention, The Deresinator, is still a live, working, tangible piece of something or other.  The proto type seals and otters had a few issues, but our engineer is on top of them and we should have it active in time for the fall harvest coming up in a few weeks or so.  More on that soon!

One of the original goals I had when we first moved in to this house was to be able to walk around the entire place barefoot without looking and feeling like I was walking on hot coals.  That action was completed this last May.

It all started with another brick planter.  Now filled with lilies.  Originally with four azalea's.  Three of which fried when Mister Sun got up in the summer.  It seemed shady enough.  But a couple hours of direct sun in the late morning was too much.

And then there came some steps. And a little hedge.

Then some lawn.  And a walk.  That matches the patio.  And wallah!  It's amazing what brick planters can lead to.

Plus, you know, Hammock Land is just a little more enticing now.  I've actually been seen in it a few times this last summer.  It's nice when you don't need to put on combat boots to get there.

And that blue wheelbarrow right there?  The one I drilled a few holes through and coated with Flex Seal?  Sprayed all the rusty spots with WD-40?  Planted some pretty poesy's in?

Dad used to give his daughters rides in that bad boy.  I've done a lot of preservation work on that puppy just to keep it in the perfect used condition it is currently in.

Besides the azaleas, I also fried at least two, if not three rhododendrons.  I planted seven of them in the spring, when Mister Sun was lower on the horizon.  Right along that black privacy fence in the back there and then along the wire towards the potting shed.

Unfortunately when Mister Sun got up there straight away in the summer he started crisping those shade loving perennials.  I put up shade cloth, which kept some of them alive.  But I can't be constantly dealing with certain aspects of ornamentals.  Like frying.  They've got to fit the spot or get moved.

Plus, it's only fair to the plant.  And sometimes that happens when planting.  I have learned one cannot underestimate Mister Sun.

So I have pulled up all the rhodys and repotted them.  Four should make it.  Three I think are toast.  But I'm going to coax them along just a little bit more.  Hopefully I can find a shady enough place.  If not, I'll sell them.

It's been a rattlesnake year around here.  One evening this last summer I found a two footer up in the chicken's companion cage.  I'm pretty sure he was going after the eggs.  He ended up getting a pellet or two in the brain.

And then, THEN, I was under the house two weeks ago trying to finagle a piece of plywood in there.  My bare knee was down on the ground, and about four inches away there was some rustling in the leaves.  I'll be go to hell if it wasn't a baby rattler, about eight inches long.  That sure got my attention.

I snagged him with my litter grabber thing.  And then that same evening my lovely wife espied two of our cats playing with something by the front steps.  It was another baby rattler.  They were also playing with a small snake a few days before out by the picket fence.  Which now could have been another rattler.

I called a snake wrangler out the next day.  He walked around the entire property but could not find a den.  It's possible the larger snake I killed earlier could have been the mother, but it's also possible it was not.  The good news is a snake litter is usually three to six, so I'm hopin it was on the short end and we're done with them all.  One thing's for sure, I'm gonna be a bit more cautious in the future when venturing under the house.

I bought a big fake rock.  It's nothing like the Pet Rock craze of the 1970's.  And it definitely won't fit in anybody's pocket, I don't care how large of pant you wear, see?

Check out how I can make my pressure tank and well head disappear...

It was either that or I could have spent the same amount of money for lumber and then a few extra days I don't have to build a pump house.  And since I'm not a finish carpenter and have enough projects to keep me busy until I'm 90 I chose the fake rock route.

Which was drop shipped from the manufacturer in Wisconsin.  I bought it through a company called exteriorsolutions.com.  Which is in Illinois.  I'll give them two and a half stars.  The price was good ($700) and they actually started the slow boat to China delivery process in a timely fashion.

What they did not do was send me the email with tracking number in a timely fashion.  Which they said they would do.  It took about three weeks to get that information from them.  About the same time it took for the rock to get here.

And they had email.

I have to be on top of deliveries here cause we live on a hill with a steep drive.  Most delivery trucks can't make it.  I gotta make arrangements.  Anyway, it all turned out fine.  It just would have been better if they had followed through with the tracking number when they said they would.

I also just had a transfer switch installed on our well.  What the heck is that and why bother?  Well, the pump for our well, and most wells for that matter, is powered by electricity.  When the power goes out so does your water.  And water is kind of important, especially in a wildfire emergency.

Since we were supposed to be evacuated just about one year ago exactly due to a wildfire, I got the rare opportunity to go through a trial run without actually having to face the fire demon.

I'm on a county wide emergency alert notification list, so like when we have a wildfire approaching I get a call.  And at about 3 AM last year in early October I got a call.  It was on one of those red flag warning high wind - high fire danger kinda nights.

The call woke me up, and considering the time of night I figured it might be important.  Of course, my phone was downstairs.  No more land line.

I sleepily trundled down the stairs and noticed how eerily quiet it was.

Nice line, eh?

Nothing electric was humming.  No little electric red or blue tiny fire fly space ship lights anywhere.

"The power was out," I ascertained.

I went to the front window and looked out across our little valley.  There were no lights on, anywhere.

"It's not just us," I re-ascertained.

I felt comforted with that.  It meant zombies or mercenaries hadn't just cut power to our house.  They were after everyone.

Then I retrieved my message, stating that we were under mandatory evacuation orders because the McCourtney Fire was heading in our direction.

"McCourtney Fire??  McCourtney  Fire??  What McCourtney Fire??"

"HONEY!!!!"

They made it sound like I should have known what the heck they were talking about.  I had no idea.  I went to bed and everything was fine.  The wind was blowing a little, but not that bad.

What  the  hell?

I started bouncing around like a crazed ex-firefighter and tried to get my bearings.  Both emergency flashlights were not where they were supposed to be.

Perfect.  So far so good.

I found a lighter, then a flashlight.  Somewhere.

Grandkids!

Make a note.

My lovely wife had been rousted with my rather shrill "honey".  She was grabbing stuff.  You know, socks.  Underwear.  Important things.

What the hell are you supposed to grab in the middle of the night when you can't see a damn thing and have no idea what's going on?

Our son called.  He told me we were under evac orders.  I said something I am sure.  I have no idea what.  He and his fiancé became en route to our locale.

Fortunately, the winds had died down in our neck of the county, but all hell was breaking loose a couple miles away in Rough and Ready.  As well in Santa Rosa and many other locations here in Northern California.  This was that awful autumn scenario in 2017 when high winds whipped utility caused flames into a frenzy.  Which then tore through the countryside as well as residential neighborhoods.  We were just on the fringe edge of that.
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October 2017 Northern California wildfires
Copernicus Sentinel-3A satellite picture, October 9
Location	Northern California
Statistics[1]
Total fires	250[1]
Total area	At least 245,000 acres (99,148 ha)
Cost	~$14.5 billion (2017 USD)[2][3]
Date(s)	October 8, 2017 – October 31, 2017
Buildings destroyed	8,900
Fatalities	44 civilians[4]
Non-fatal injuries	192[5][6]

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Location of Northern California wildfires

The 2017 Northern California wildfires from October 7 to October 14

The October 2017 Northern California wildfires, also known as the Northern California firestorm,^[7] were a series of 250 wildfires that started burning across the state of California, United States, beginning in early October. Twenty-one became major fires that burned at least 245,000 acres

Even though we had no well, I have a water tank in front with 2,800 gallons of water in it.  I also have a one horsepower pump.  And a lot of hose.  But I had no power.

This was turning out to be a great plan.

I had, uh, apparently forgot about having an alternate power source.

Alternate reality?  Yes.  Always.

Alternate power?  Apparently not.  Oops.

Fortunately the wind had died down dramatically and the fire went in a different direction.

So we four sat in the candle lit living room, listening to reports of the two closest fires and evacuations that were occurring.  We were in touch with a couple friends in that war zone.

We later discovered our niece and nephew's 90 year old paternal grandmother evac'd with flames at her door.  She drove down her curvy dirt road through smoke so heavy she could barely see, running into a ditch once as the flames continued their heated pursuit.

In the meantime, we ran to Starbuck's for coffee.

You know, important stuff.

We discovered the fire had started right down at the end of our road, across from the fairgrounds, about two and a half miles away.

There were still burning embers of wood chips in the parking area we always use.  Plus two residences across from the fairgrounds were still in the flaming charred ruin stage of the burning to shit process.

After caffeine we went to my nephew's to borrow a generator.  Even though the wind had changed, our fire was still very active, having burned to within a mile of the house.  The wind could change again.  I was going to be prepared.

The generator enabled me to charge the pump, run the fridge and wifi for communication.  At the very least I had two charged 3/4 inch lines.  That could easily allow me to put out any advanced embers coming my way.  I was set.

I have since implemented a few extra safety measures so that I will NOT be caught with my fire pants down again.

The first was flashlight re-placement.  And now there's one on the nightstand along with the phone.

The next was purchase a generator.  I may even get another one, dedicated to the well.  We'll see.

The next was to put in a transfer switch at the well.  Not a simple deal.  Since the pump, when it kicks on, can run a high amperage, you need a 220 switch.  Which is big deal and needs to be attached to something.

Sigh.  Here we go.  It's always something.

That's what makes living in the country so special.

I think.

The previous pump house, which the transfer switch could have been attached to, had been held together with bubblegum and glue.  I put a new roof on it and painted it when we bought the place in 2010, but it was ready to go then.  I did make it last another eight years, but it was time.

To be tossed.  And then I added a 4x4 post, had the switch installed and covered it all with a big, beautiful boulder!

From Wisconsin.  Via Illinois.

I also have installed a 360 degree sprinkler at the chicken coop and made two stands in a "V" shape so that they will sit on the peak of our roof.  Each stand will accommodate a 360 degree rain bird that will cover the entire house.

And I think I will continue to retain the 2800 gallon water tank for fire prevention rather than irrigation.  It's in front and can gravity feed to any tank on the road.  Plus I can pump it anywhere on the property.

I just learned something new as I come to print.  Our washing machine has been leaking a bit, fortunately into a drip pan and not on to the hardwood floor.  Kara Hale, of Hale Appliance Services, was out.  She fixed the leak and then educated me on detergent, since it sounded like the bearings were going out on our eight year old machine.  And the main cause of the bearings going out is using too much detergent.

And so I said, somewhat defensively, that I only filled it to the lowest line, not the top.  And then she said front loaders use so much less than that, like only one tablespoon per load.  A bottle of detergent should last a year, not a couple months.

And I said, "Aha."

How about that?

Since the cost of replacing the bearings is about the same as a new machine, she suggested my lovely wife and I watch for sales.  In the meantime, the rinse cycle in the utility room will continue to sound like a jet engine taking off.  Until it simply ceases to roar.

Anyway, one tablespoon.  Who knew?  Least of all me, and maybe you.  So if you want to extend the life of your energy efficient front loader, use less detergent.

And if your machine sounds like a jet engine when it's spinning, start looking for specials.  You're flying on borrowed time.

I kinda wish I had learned this sooner, you know?

One tablespoon.

Thank you Kara.  By the way, I highly recommend them.  If you live in Nevada County that is.  Doubt they're gonna travel to Alaska.

Cheers!