Saturday, December 24, 2011

Road Chronicles 000201 - OLD AND ROLLED



Pair of Dice Lost

February 1, 2000

Dave,

"Well I entered your address in my address book and sent you an email, but I don't see the mail and I don't see the address, so I screwed up again. If you got the big email let me know--it was bit long. To suffice:
I lost my job.
I have a month to move.
I plan to become a Nevada citizen and live in Mexico.
I have a lot to do in 30 days.
Rita is puking and has the flu.
It's raining like hell.
You can reach me at 555 555-5988 ground line for 30 days.
555 555-4567 Nokia Cell--will monitor irregularly after 20 days don't leave a message.
555 555-1234 3-watt Motorola Mobile--to be monitored on the road.

Tomorrow I get my radio and fan off my desk and ask the mob what it is that I am not supposed to remember so that I will understand what it is that I have forgotten that they are worried about. Hope the men in black didn't bother you.
Maybe you can give me advice as to how to set up a Nevada residency, a mail forwarding account, Nevada vehicle registrations, etc.
You'll be hearing from me as emergencies allow
Sorry the other note was much longer and I don't have time to repeat it all today as I am pushing daylight.

Cimarron Charlie

(charles and rita jac)

A Passing Thought

February 27, 2000

Charles:

I hope you will print this out for RITA. Thank you and good luck. When you guys settle down if you want to find me I will always be at whoami666@hotmail.com or at martinscamkars@yahoo.com.

"Mr. Washington was a HARD-CORE LAWN freak. His yard and my yard blended together in an ambiguous fashion. Every year he was seized by a kind of herbicidal mania. He started fondling his weed-eater and mixing up vile potions in vats in his garage. It usually added up to trouble. Sure enough, one morning I caught him over in my yard spraying dandelions.
"Didn't really think you'd mind." says he, righteously.
"Mind, mind!----you just killed my flowers." says I, with guarded contempt.
"Flowers?" he ripostes. "Those are weeds!" He points at my dandelions with utter disdain.
"Weeds," says I, "are plants growing where people don't want them. In other words," says I, "weeds are in the eye of the beholder. And as far as I am concerned, dandelions are not weeds-----they are flowers!"
"Horse manure," says he, and stomps off home to avoid any taint of lunacy.

Now I happen to like dandelions a lot. They cover my yard each spring with fine yellow flowers, with no help from me at all. They mind their business and I mind mine. The young leaves make a spicy salad. The flowers add fine flavor and elegant color to a classic light wine. Toast the roots, grind and brew, and you have a palatable coffee. The tenderest shoots make a tonic tea. The dried mature leaves are high in iron, vitamins A and C, and make a good laxative. Bees favor dandelions, and the cooperative result is high-class honey.
Dandelions have been around for about thirty-million years; there are fossils. The nearest relatives are lettuce and chicory. Formally classed as perennial herbs of the genus Taraxacum of the family asteraceae. The name comes from the French for lion's tooth, dent-de-lion.
Distributed all over Europe, Asia, and North America, they got there on their own. Resistant to disease, bugs, heat, cold, wind, rain, and human beings.
If dandelions were rare and fragile, people would knock themselves out to pay $14.95 a plant, raise them in greenhouses, and form dandelion societies and all that. But they are everywhere and don't need us and kind of do what they please. So we call them "weeds," and murder them at every opportunity.

Well, I say they are flowers, by God, and pretty damn fine flowers at that. And I am honored to have them in my yard, where i want them.
Besides, in addition to every other good thing about them, they are magic. When the flower turns to seed, you can blow them off the stem, and if you blow just right and all those little helicopters fly away, you get your wish. Magic! Or if you are a lover, they twine nicely into a wreath for your friend's hair.

I defy my neighbor to show me anything in his yard that compares with dandelions. And if all that isn't enough, consider this: Dandelions are free. Nobody ever complains about your picking them. You can have all you can carry away. Some weed!”

               by Robert Fulghum                                                                                                                                                             1989

Martins


Hole in the Jaw

March 1, 2000

The weekend after my last workday, Rita fell and punctured her jaw. She had low potassium levels and had to be taken to the hospital emergency ward and pumped up with intravenous potassium.
We spent the rest of February putting wheelbarrow loads of 'spare' stuff in the gurney so that we would 'fit' into the motorhome; Putting the finishing touches on the towing rig; arranging personal affairs (including) mail forwarding, and arranging to get hold of the rest of my 401(k).
On the last day of the month we almost pulled up stakes and headed out. Well it was raining a monsoon by the time we were ready to hook up and Rita was hollering at me instead of helping. If she would have helped, we would have hooked before the monsoon hit. As it was, I got completely drenched and sidetracked by her yelling and the great deluge, I forgot to pull the plug (30-amp that is). I stopped just out of the stall and was extremely depressed, what with emergency hospital bills too. I straightened the prongs with my pliers and hoped for the best. We headed for our first monsoonal drive thru the mountains on the way to Scott’s Valley. 

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