Alan & Barbara, 12-28-14

My latest (and perhaps last) attempt to polish rocks using a vibratory tumbler ended in a complete meltdown.

I can't tell exactly how long the machine ran, but it was less than 12 hours. One of the four rubber band straps holding the barrel in place broke, the barrel itself leaked, and the motor on the vibrator burnt out.

I started it running about midday, and it was still noisily functioning when I went indoors about sundown, but by the following morning the raucous clatter of colliding rocks had been reduced to the low hum of a malfunctioning electric motor.

So, I cleaned up the mess, and initiated plan "B." Craigslist boasts (for only $150) a vibratory tumbler designed to polish rocks using ultrasonic impulses, but I didn't feel like driving to Scottsdale so plan "B" has yet to coalesce into a definitive configuration. Maybe the correct course of action is to consider this endeavor a dead end, and move on...

This is another letter with few photos. Our holiday commemorations this year consisted in visiting with some of the family at Karren's house for a couple of hours on the 19^th. For some reason my camera, cloistered in my pocket, didn't capture many images of that event.

Dave Elliott visited came to visit for a couple of days, and we re-instituted our long standing tradition of having mechanical problems with vehicles during such festivities. This tradition includes such oddities as a vehicle stuck in Cibeque Creek overnight and a brand new (actually two month old) VW van that refused to start until we built a fire under it. This time it was my old white pickup that provided the entertainment. When we attempted to return home after a hike, he key simply refused to turn. After employing a number of unsuccessful strategies, we finally solved the problem by dismantled the steering column (breaking only a few pieces in the process) and, after a push start (the battery was dead), returned home uneventfully. During that process a deputy sheriff stopped by, but showed little interest in three old men eviscerating the anti-theft devices on an ancient vehicle by the side of the road. I can't seem to locate the part I need to replace (perhaps it is known by some inane name such as "ignition cassette"), so I may just route the accessories through a toggle switch, the starter through a push button switch, and not use a key at all.

It appears that I have joined the likes of Don Quixote on an unobtainable quest. I have undertaken to populate the photo section in our ward directory. During that process I learned that many (perhaps even most) of our ward members lack (or refuse to employ) access to the internet. As the assistant clerk/finances, I am involved in tithing settlement, and I used that situation to photograph members waiting visiting with the Bishop. In the end, I managed to capture and post only 27 mug shots (and influence a few people to post their own). That is only a minor fraction of our ward members but, given the success I have enjoyed to this point, perhaps it is time for me to declare victory and move on.

I have agreeed to instruct Kyle in the fine art of guitar abuse and supply Abbie (along with her mother) with a vocabulary enhancing word-of-the-day. Is any one else out there interested in those sorts of activities?

There are members of this family who enjoy puns--myself included. Missing from our family's practice of this comic art form is a somewhat dated genre of puns called, "Tom Swifties." A Tom Swiftie is a phrase in which a quoted sentence is linked by a pun to the manner in which it is attributed. The archetypal example (from which comes the name) is "We must hurry," said Tom Swiftly. Rather than discuss the nuances of this humor form, I'll just list some of my favorites below. To those of you whose mental circuitry allows it, I say: "Enjoy!" The rest of you can stop reading at this point or just groan in muted tones.

"I have to fix the car," said Tom mechanically. "I wonder if there's a number between seven and nine," said Tom considerately. "I chop down trees for a living," said Tom lumberingly.

"I've joined the navy," Tom said fleetingly. "My parents are called Billy and Nanny," Tom kidded. "I have no recollection of the last twenty-four hours," said Tom lackadaisically.

"I've borrowed my sister's camping gear," said Tom insistently. "Can I become a chorister?" Tom inquired. "I've been feeding the crocodile," said Tom offhandedly.

"Nay!" cried Tom hoarsely. "I have to keep these eggs warm," Tom said honestly. "My bicycle wheel is damaged," said Tom outspokenly.

"The doctor had to remove a bone from my arm," said Tom humorlessly. "I've gained thirty pounds," said Tom heavily. "I only have diamonds, clubs and spades," said Tom heartlessly.

"This game is foul," Tom groused. "I can't march any more!" the soldier called haltingly. "I dropped the toothpaste," said Tom, crestfallen.

"I'm a lot taller than I was yesterday," said Tom gruesomely. "Pass the playing cards," said Tom ideally. "The doctor had to remove my left ventricle," said Tom half-heartedly.

"Watch this insect sail through the air," said Tom flippantly. "Elvis is dead," said Tom expressly. "I used to command a battalion of German ants," said Tom exuberantly.

"There's a high charge for supporters traveling by coach," said Tom with considerable fanfare. "The radio reception is much better now," said Tom ecstatically. "That certainly took the wind out of my sails!" said Tom disgustedly.

"I told you not to ride that horse," Tom nagged. "I'm the butcher's assistant," said Tom cuttingly. "The escaped prisoner is camping out in the woods," said Tom contentedly.

"Don't let me drown in Egypt!" pleaded Tom, deep in denial. "It's not fair!" said Tom darkly. "The girl has been kidnapped," said Tom mistakenly.

"I used to be a paratrooper," Tom explained. "I manufacture tabletops," said Tom counterproductively. "Ok, I will allow prisoners to wear perfume," the warden consented.

"The average frequency of my voice is 160 Hz," said Tom in measured tones. "Sorry! I've accidentally pierced your cheek instead," said Tom mysteriously. "How do you start a model-T Ford without a battery?" asked Tom crankily.

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There are members of this family who enjoy puns--myself included. Missing from our family's practice of this comic art form is a somewhat dated genre of puns called, "Tom Swifties." A Tom Swiftie is a phrase in which a quoted sentence is linked by a pun to the manner in which it is attributed. The archetypal example (from which comes the name) is "We must hurry," said Tom Swiftly. Rather than discuss the nuances of this humor form, I'll just list some of my favorites below. To those of you whose mental circuitry allows it, I say: "Enjoy!" The rest of you can stop reading at this point or just groan in muted tones.
"I have to fix the car," said Tom mechanically.	"I wonder if there's a number between seven and nine," said Tom considerately.	"I chop down trees for a living," said Tom lumberingly.
"I've joined the navy," Tom said fleetingly.	"My parents are called Billy and Nanny," Tom kidded.	"I have no recollection of the last twenty-four hours," said Tom lackadaisically.
"I've borrowed my sister's camping gear," said Tom insistently.	"Can I become a chorister?" Tom inquired.	"I've been feeding the crocodile," said Tom offhandedly.
"Nay!" cried Tom hoarsely.	"I have to keep these eggs warm," Tom said honestly.	"My bicycle wheel is damaged," said Tom outspokenly.
"The doctor had to remove a bone from my arm," said Tom humorlessly.	"I've gained thirty pounds," said Tom heavily.	"I only have diamonds, clubs and spades," said Tom heartlessly.
"This game is foul," Tom groused.	"I can't march any more!" the soldier called haltingly.	"I dropped the toothpaste," said Tom, crestfallen.
"I'm a lot taller than I was yesterday," said Tom gruesomely.	"Pass the playing cards," said Tom ideally.	"The doctor had to remove my left ventricle," said Tom half-heartedly.
"Watch this insect sail through the air," said Tom flippantly.	"Elvis is dead," said Tom expressly.	"I used to command a battalion of German ants," said Tom exuberantly.
"There's a high charge for supporters traveling by coach," said Tom with considerable fanfare.	"The radio reception is much better now," said Tom ecstatically.	"That certainly took the wind out of my sails!" said Tom disgustedly.
"I told you not to ride that horse," Tom nagged.	"I'm the butcher's assistant," said Tom cuttingly.	"The escaped prisoner is camping out in the woods," said Tom contentedly.
"Don't let me drown in Egypt!" pleaded Tom, deep in denial.	"It's not fair!" said Tom darkly.	"The girl has been kidnapped," said Tom mistakenly.
"I used to be a paratrooper," Tom explained.	"I manufacture tabletops," said Tom counterproductively.	"Ok, I will allow prisoners to wear perfume," the warden consented.
"The average frequency of my voice is 160 Hz," said Tom in measured tones.	"Sorry! I've accidentally pierced your cheek instead," said Tom mysteriously.	"How do you start a model-T Ford without a battery?" asked Tom crankily.