| A couple of years ago, when Barbara effected our move from evaporative cooling to air conditioning, I concluded that by doing so we had terminated our efforts at gardening. But not all my suppositions stand the test of time and, after some internal contention regarding the issue, I resolved to try again. |
| Since the dog run now encompasses all of our several previous garden plots, it became apparent that the only option that would allow the use gravity feed greywater (our one economically feasible source for irrigation) was to use the spot where the old jeep has been squatting for the last 25 years. Given that the tires were flat and off the rims, and that the steering wheel was not happy about turning, moving that canister of mechanical mayhem proved to be an endurance contest that consumed the better part of two days and required the use of two come-alongs, twelve lengths of chain, a review of force vector analysis, and more patience than I usually have available. |
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As with most of my projects, creating a garden spot required accomplishing several peripheral tasks. The first was to salvage a pile of rocks. During the past couple of years, I (along with several other people, including Barbara, Karren, Mark, Jim, and Laura) have spent time looking for an old jasper mine near my home town of Patagonia. As it turns out, I should have been looking in my own back yard. Upon commencement of tilling the garden, I noted a piece of colorful jasper. I have vague memories of bringing in a few pieces of rock when we moved here in 1982, and piling them next to the chicken coop. Apparently, over the last 35 years, enough soil has washed in to cover those treasures. I unearthed one piece, then another and then another. At the end of the collection, and after washing off the adhering soil, I had 424 pounds of jasper (only part of it shown here). |
| I also had 152 pounds of obsidian and 14 pounds of petrified wood. These were undoubtedly a gift from my maternal grandmother, Charlotte when my grandfather, Sessal Allen, passed away 30 August 1982. |
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I also uncovered this piece of turkey track andecite (I learned about this in the geology class AJ and I took a couple of years ago). This is not a gemstone, but interesting none-the-less. As molten rock (called magma) cools underground, a series of crystals form and then re-dissolve. The process is called, "Bowens' reaction series" for anyone who wants to know more. In this rock, the crystals formed in the underground magma, then the volcano erupted, cooling the magma quickly before the crystals could re-dissolve. Too bad I didn't have this piece three weeks ago when I talked to the young men about lapidary stuff. |
| The next task was to move the angle iron (purchased several years ago to construct the shed roof and stacked diagonally across the back yard...). After clearing a space along one of the walls in the shed, I discovered that the 20 foot length of the angle iron caused it to protrude into the door way... After much thought, I ended up stacking it next to the south facing wall of the two story portion of the house. |
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In the end, perseverance overcame all obstacles, and we now have two tomato plants ($3.59 each) and three hills of cucumbers ($1.59 for a packet of seeds) planted in the hopes of decreasing our grocery bills by at least that amount... |
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During the 45 years that I have been making bread, I have resisted measuring any ingredient except the liquid (and that only to an imaginary line on a drinking glass). But creatures do occasionally change (even old ones) and when my laziness quotient finally increased to the point where I considered using Barbara's Kitchen-Aid machine to mix my bread, it became obvious that stiffness of the dough was critical, and further, that it could not be easily adjusted by adding small amounts of flour. At this point, my chemistry training kicked in and I observed that first, preciseness was indicated, and second, that aliquoting solids (or small quantities of liquids) by measuring their volumes was not precise. So, I dusted off my triple beam balance, and after some experimentation, my bread recipe now looks like this:
Karren offered me an electronic kitchen scale that was faster by at least an order of magnitude, but after discovering that what it measured as 8 grams of salt, my triple beam scale called 24 grams, I returned it to her with my thanks. For some odd reason, Barbara is fussy about salty tasting bread. She has also observed that sometimes too much education can be a curse... |
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After threatening to do so for some time, I (along with Karren, Laura, and Fred) finally paid a visit to Nogales Sonora. Much to my surprise, not much had changed. The shops had about the same selection of merchandise. The prices were higher (probably the result of the inflated dollar) and there were not as many shops, but aside from that, it was pretty much as I remember it. |
| In the 60's the place to eat in Nogales was called, "The Caverns." That establishment has closed, but in the same building is now a restaurant called, "La Roca," or, "The Rock." The edifice is a two story structure built against a cliff, such that the rock of the cliff face comprises the rear wall of the building. We ate lunch there, and the food was excellent. Their chicken chimichanga was the best I have ever eaten. |
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After agreeing that we needed to do so for ten years, my siblings and I have finally begun the process of designing, commissioning, and installing daddy's headstone. This is the current draft. The dark thing in the upper center is a medallion inscribed with "Veteran" and "Army." Any comments? Perhaps I am becoming a trifle crotchety in my old age, but I resent the stranglehold maintained by the Provo Cemetery where Daddy is buried. Headstones there cannot be set by private individuals--only by three companies contracted with the cemetery. None of these companies will set a headstone that they did not make. Those restriction have a obvious impact on the price. Have I ever mentioned that I dislike bureaucracies? I suspect Daddy might chuckle about that conundrum... |
| I have taken up the thankless task of returning the drainage across my property to its' originally channel. The main problem is the gentleman next door who has taken it upon himself to maintain Quarter Street and Timberline Drive by pulling a drag behind his little Bobcat. He has made a huge difference, particularly in smoothing the ruts on Quarter Street so I can't really complain. But, when he turns it around in my yard, my little ditch is no match for his road grading equipment. In this instance, it appears my best option might be to just take the bad with the good... |
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| Okay, when I get down to showing cartoons, you can surmise the end is near. But I can relate to this one, and I suspect you might also. |
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I also relate to this one. But for you, probably not so much... |
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My annual visit to the dermatologist resulted in a shave biopsy. The pathologist who examined it called it a "Dysplastic Nevus" and commented, "Complete removal is recommended. Sections show lentiginous hyperplasia, epidermal melanocyte atypia with moderate nuclear enlargement, bridging of the rete ridges by junctional nests and lamellar fibroplasia." I haven't a clue what all that means, but my dermatologist said there was nothing to worry about. He then proceeded to cut out a larger section. The pathologist "dropped this specimen on the floor" and issued no report. In closing the incision, the dermatologist used subcutaneous sutures (that were supposed to dissolve) and surface stitches that were removed about a week post surgery. Today (25 days post surgery) I noted a white whisker protruding from the incision area. After several attempts with tweezers and magnifying equipment, I managed to extract a piece of "dissolvable" suture about 12 mm in length.
Well that's all the news thats fit to print, so I will draw this to a close. Alan, Barbara, Compton, and "That Blasted Cat." |