I call shotgun!!!- Then

I steer my small Ford pickup to the side of the road and shut off the motor. I open the door and stand up. As I do, my border collie, Scooter, jumps down next to me, panting with tail wagging, ready to run. I bend down to remove the leash, and she is off. At first, she trots, her nose down scanning for something only a dog would find of interest. Her run meanders in long, slow curves out and away from where I stand watching. I sit down again and close the door to the truck.

Hearing the door close, she stops momentarily and glances back at me. Suddenly, she takes off, her legs a blur through the sparse grasses, herding imaginary quarry; running and cutting to first one side and then another.

And as if responding to an unspoken command, she turns towards the truck, running full speed, back to me. I expect her to stop, but she keeps up her all-out run, launching herself at the driver’s side window, which, lucky for both of us, is open. I lean back at the last second as she lands awkwardly in the seat next to me.

She always gets shotgun, but not usually with as much flair.

Goodbye old friends, revisited- Now

I walk out towards the end of our back yard, past our small pond, which, until the last hard freeze, still was home to a few wild guppies. These are also known as mosquito fish, and they do a surprisingly effective job of controlling the local mosquito population. During a hard freeze in December, the surface froze and remained frozen for several days. The guppies can take some cold. They survived last winter, but this is not last winter. I could see the dead fish through the opaque ice cover. Maybe some are still hiding in the muck at the bottom.

I stand at the base of one of our dawn redwood trees, the branches now bare for winter. It is about the tallest tree on the property, with the possible exception of a magnolia out at the street. A nearby coast redwood may eventually overtake its cousin.

In the distance, I am surprised to hear calls from a hawk for the first time since the removal of two trees from a neighboring yard. These had been nesting trees used by hawks ever since we have lived here. As tall as our trees are, they are not suited for the hawks to use for nesting. I had seen one briefly land in the lower branches of the dawn redwood, but only on rare occasions when hunting something in our yard.

Our neighbor told me that he removed the two trees because the owner of the house over his back fence had complained that one of them was dropping branches into their yard. That house is quite far from the fence. I have been back there recently looking for one of our cats. Their yard is completely overgrown, and it is hard for me to imagine they would have noticed if a stray branch had landed there from a tree well into the next yard.

I hear the cry of a lone hawk again, and looking up towards the openness of the yard next door, I still expect to see those two trees. The sound of the hawk makes it harder for me to look. With the trees gone, it is so empty. I wonder if the hawk even recognizes the area or if it is as confused as I am.

It is probably easier for me. I can choose not to look, at least most of the time. It is harder for the hawk. He may not only be searching for his old nest tree, but he could also cry for his lost mate. He will not find her.

A few days after the tree removal, we found two separate hawk wings in the yard, evidence of an unknown trauma.

As I return to the house, I hope he will find a new tree to nest in and eventually find another mate. I wonder if the new nest tree would be near enough to us so we could still hear them calling in the distance as they hunt food for their young. Part of me hopes they choose a spot much further away from here. 

It is no longer safe here if it ever was.

My Best Man, wasn’t one at all- Then

When I met Linda back in high school, I never would have guessed that she would be my best “man” at my wedding.

I brought a small tenor banjo to school one day, which had belonged to my father when he was a kid. I had just refurbished and rebuilt it, and was learning to play it. Linda approached me to see what it was. I played a small bit of something I had made up. I let her hold it and strum a bit. I had the impression this was the first time she had ever been so close to any kind of string instrument, or to anyone who could pretend to play one. I got a picture of her in the yearbook. When she signed my yearbook, she mentioned that day. We were friends, and that was enough for me. But, talk about gorgeous. What was I doing with her? As much as I thought I was out of my league with some other girls back then, I was totally comfortable with her. We quickly became very good friends. But. . . There is that “but” I always dreaded.

One day, I went to my locker, and inside was a folded letter from Linda. This was a very intense letter, describing how she was interested in getting to know me, but that it would have to remain a friendship. I just did not do it for her as boyfriend material. And, “How does a person tell someone they love them as a friend?” I guess that way worked.

I still have that letter. It was the first time anyone had ever used the “just friends” phrasing with me, but it was also the first time anyone ever told me they loved me as a friend. At the time, I was more than happy to have her as just a friend. High School relationships almost always went “bust” very quickly. But friends, they could last forever- or a long time anyway. I only wish I knew what happened to her. It felt right to ask Linda to be in my wedding.

After my wedding, I found out that my brother was hurt that I had not asked him to be my best man. But then he hadn’t asked me to be his best man when he got married earlier. I never even thought of asking him. Linda had seemed the perfect choice at the time; although I am sure having a woman as “best man” raised a few eyebrows among relatives and friends in attendance, and maybe also my wife-to-be.

I know that Jeanne did not care for Linda. It is funny that she felt threatened by Linda, yet she was the one who later became unfaithful to me. When Jeanne and I later divorced, Linda was extremely helpful in talking me through my feelings. There were a few visits I made while she was still living at home with her parents. I remember sitting with her out on her deck, talking about Jeanne, how we had been together, what we did, and what we did not do. How Jeanne acted around me or others. I know I must have cried a bit. Linda was there for me. I almost let myself believe there might still be a chance for something more with Linda, but that was not to be. She now had a very detailed idea about what her perfect mate would be, and I was not close. Eventually, she met her perfect match and married- after a couple of near-misses, and a delay or two.

Originally, Linda had written to ask if I would be part of her wedding, since she had been part of mine. It felt right. She asked me if I would be willing to play guitar and sing at the ceremony. Her chosen song was “You’ve Got a Friend.”  I was still a relative novice guitarist at the time and had not sung solo anywhere, let alone while I played the only accompaniment. Of course, I wrote back that I would be happy to do it.

What was I thinking?

As I worked on the song, I got to a point where I felt comfortable sending her a cassette recording of me playing and singing, just so she would know whether she really wanted me to do it for her wedding. She responded that she loved it and couldn’t wait to hear it in person at her wedding.

A short time later, I received another letter from Linda saying that the wedding was “OFF.” She knew I was still working on the song and told me maybe someday I could perform it just for her. 

I had the impression they had some things still to work out before the wedding. I can’t say I was totally disappointed. Even if I had gotten to the point where I felt comfortable playing it in front of people I knew, I doubt I would have been able to get through it without losing my composure. I knew it would have been possible with enough practice. My idea had been that if I had problems doing the song live, at least I would have a taped version to play. My debut as a wedding singer never happened, though.

This was around the time I met Judy.

Of course, being in a new relationship was all I had on my mind then. It was interrupted by receiving in the mail what was obviously a wedding invitation. Before I opened it, I told Judy who it was from, and also about my previous promise to play and sing at her wedding. I opened the invitation. There was no mention of her having asked me to play and sing at her wedding.

Judy and I went to Linda’s wedding. I remember before we drove to the Bay Area, Judy asked if I wanted to bring my guitar, just in case. Not that I would have been ready to do the song, I said, “No. She didn’t mention it. I shouldn’t mention anything, unless she brings it up.” That wedding was the last time I saw Linda. She moved somewhere; I was never sure where. After a short time, she stopped responding to letters. Then, one was returned with an expired forwarding address. I sent a letter to her at her old home address, where her parents still lived. I never got any response. I do not know what I did, or if I did anything that may have upset her. Clearly, I could not have done enough to make her upset with me and not remember what it was? That is sad; to have that good a friend, and just have them disappear.

But, like the song says, if she ever were to try to contact me, I would be there. At the same time, I know that after close to 30 years, it will never happen. I guess I have to learn to let certain things go.

This is a tough one, though. I am still trying. 

Twenty-Thirteen? Be gone!- Now

I am not one to make resolutions at the New Year. I figure, if a change is worth making at all, it might be better to make it while the reason is still fresh in your mind. If you wait until an arbitrary date to start, even if it is a special date, why bother in the long run? Especially if it is a health-related resolution. Just do it. Get a head start on the procrastinators.

What I have done in the past, instead of a resolution, is to challenge the upcoming year to take its best shot at me. I believe that twenty-thirteen was the time I made that challenge. The prior year had had its bad times, but I made it through with all mental faculties intact. I figured I might even have been made stronger by the challenges of twenty-twelve. Well, it may not have been such a good idea to challenge twenty-thirteen after all.

From my health to the health of my loved ones, this last year took its best shot at me, and at her. I came out OK in the long run. The jury is still out about her, but she is hanging in there, fighting as if her life depended on it. And it may.

The rest of the family had taken a hit in the last couple of years, and it continued in twenty-thirteen, but in a way, no one could have foreseen. A hit to my family is a hit to me, no matter who or what is the cause.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom last year. At a time when I was reeling from several hits, I gained a good friend who has already provided many valuable insights about the weirdness life can throw at you from time to time. I hope to be able to pay this friend back in the future, but I hate that this would mean she would need that help. So, I send her positive energy. Maybe it will help keep the weirdness under control. Maybe it will help both of us.

Twenty-thirteen, be gone and good riddance to you. I will never challenge the New Year again. Sometimes the universe hears you, and you end up with more than you bargained for.

On writing now vs. then- Now and Then

I remember from my school days, both high school and college, all of the time starting writing assignments, having to face that empty page. That empty page has so much promise; if I can only find the right words to fulfill that potential. Usually, back then, I failed miserably.

I would try. And I would fail. And I invariably would think that just having tried hard made it OK that I had missed the point of the assignment. With writing and for other subjects too, it was easy to rationalize the results. I was so close. I could have done better if just a few things had been done differently. I never would have admitted back then that I had simply not done an assignment well. Maybe I just needed a better pen.

I heard the examples of what my peers had written for the same assignment I had done. After hearing their papers read aloud, or having read them myself, I would come away thinking, “Where did they learn to write like that?”  I knew I had been in the same classes with most of them earlier. Where had I been when they learned to write so well?

For one writing assignment in my high school Advanced Placement English class, we were told to choose a current song we liked and explain what it was about. I already knew by then that my being in this class was a total mistake. Being here assumes that you already have the basic and even more advanced writing skills mastered. That would be the “advanced” part of the course title. Somehow, the people at that particular switch must have fallen asleep, allowing me into this class with no real writing skills. That was never more apparent than with this particular assignment.

My teacher told us about the assignment and read us a sample paper from an earlier class. My teacher raved about this paper as one of the best he had seen in any class he had ever taught. I think I knew before he started that it had been written by my brother.

For this paper, my brother had chosen “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” by The Beatles.

“Why don’t we do it in the road?

Why don’t we do it in the road?

Why don’t we do it in the road?

Why don’t we do it in the road?

No one will be watching us

Why don’t we do it in the road?”

And repeat. . . And repeat, and done.

I have to admit it was a really good paper. And it may have been a really good example of what this teacher wanted. For me, it made achieving success in this assignment particularly unattainable. For one thing, I did not have his talent. And also, for all the praise my teacher gave my brother for this gold medal moment in his teaching career, I knew the truth.

My brother had not chosen the song because he knew he could nail the assignment with his interpretation of the deeper meaning of one of the Beatles’ shorter song ventures. My brother chose that particular song because it was so short. It mattered that it was short because he had waited until the last possible day to even think about doing this paper. He did have a bit of talent to turn what, for me, would have been a disastrous failure into a victory.  

My teacher did not know this, though. He presented this example as if my brother had spent long hours on multiple days getting everything just right. In reality, it had taken him less than half an hour to create this masterpiece of high school writing. I worked on my paper for an interminable amount of time, and still barely passed. I envied my brother’s creative ability to some extent. But I knew I had creative abilities in other ways that he could never touch back then, or even more recently.

And now that I am in somewhat a forced retirement, I am taking writing a bit more seriously and I find that I enjoy it. I like that I can create something out of a blank page and an idea. I like that it can be about any subject that interests me. And I like it even more that it will not be graded by my old Advanced Placement English teacher. Thanks for trying, Mr. Thomas.

Re-established Interests- Amateur radio

Saturday, June 6, 2020

Somewhere back in time, shortly after meeting my wife Judy, I told her that I had always wanted to be an amateur radio operator. This was in part due to one present from “Santa” when I was a kid, a cheap pair of walkie-talkies that worked fine if the two users were still in normal hearing range of each other. In other words, they didn’t work at all. But they did receive an amateur radio operator somewhere in the neighborhood. “KC6DNQ calling CQ 10 meters . . . Kilowatt-Charley-6-Denver-Norway-Quebec calling CQ and listening.” I wanted to know who this was, but more what he was trying to do. What was CQ 10 meters, and why was he calling it? My father was a bit savvier in his earlier years, knew this was an amateur radio operator, and the next Christmas gifts included books on radio theory and Morse code, required to get a novice amateur radio license. It took many years to get up the nerve to take the course. And it took a bit of a nudge from Judy.   

Back then, Judy commuted by bus to a hospital where she was a physical therapist. She heard from one of her bus-mates that they would be offering a novice amateur radio class at the college soon. I signed up. I had always shied away from trying this before because of the code requirement. It was only a five-word-per-minute test you had to pass, but starting from zero words, it might as well have been 100 words per minute.

There was also a theory portion. That was easy because I was more interested in that part. In the end, on test night, I just barely passed the code portion. And I remember I only passed because I was able to hear part of what had been sent and guess the rest. More important to me than how I passed (barely) was having my amateur radio ticket. And I got it before the FCC dropped the code requirement, a distinction that was important to me because I wanted my license before that requirement was scrapped, and I would always know my I received my license when that was still required.

For the most part, I never had time to devote to the hobby since then. I had noticed that most of the amateur radio hobbyists I met then were retired. I was barely 30 then. But now I have the time, and I am more or less retired.  

Anyway, earlier I dug out two of my radios (three if you count an old CB radio, I bought the day of my Technician test, that was doctored to work on the ten-meter band (as in CQ 10 meters). I actually was able to talk to someone in the Philippines back then. But I am rapidly remembering, there is no such thing as a cheap walkie-talkie. Who knew?

Back then, things were quite active. The people I knew in amateur radio were retired. Judy suggested at some point that maybe I would have more time for it when I retired. Oh well. It turns out she was correct about that. But, so far, everyone is gone, retirement age or not. I have only sampled a couple of the two-meter “repeaters,” as they are called, but they used to be very active on the VHF frequency range. Now the only voice I generally hear is the repeater ID.  

To hear anything at all, I had to operate on two of my Alinco radios, a DR600 and a DR1200. Frequency memory was maintained by a battery for those back then, said to last for five years. It has been more than twenty years since I had used either of them, so both batteries had to be replaced, a simple matter of ordering the tabbed batteries, removing the case of the radio, and locating the place on the circuit board where the batteries lived, unsoldering the old one, and soldering the new one in place. It should have been easy, but remember it is me and my technology issues I am talking about. That, and I find my hands shaking to be an additional issue at times. (Oh, and this- When soldering on, it is very important to always remember that the hot end of the soldering gun is not a handle. I won’t ever make that mistake again….)   

It turns out not all tabbed batteries are the same. The tabs on the new batteries were nowhere near as good as the old ones, so I found it easier to solder wires to the circuit boards, run them outside the case, and then solder the batteries to the ends of the wires. One patient is recovering nicely. It is too soon to say what may have gone wrong with the second. Not that I need two radios. I used to keep one in my car and one at home. That isn’t necessary. I am happy enough that one of them works again. And the only reason for that is that this was an old interest of mine, and now that Judy has died, I have been checking into the hobbies from my past that still interest me. 

Of course, that isn’t the end of the story. I heard a discussion about the main repeater I use switching to “digital” mode soon. Of course, digital is a new technology for radio, and my old ones won’t do that, much like when TV broadcasting switched to digital, it required upgrades to viewing apparatus. At the moment the switch is made, I would not be able to hear anything at all if the signal were digital and my radios were unable to process it.

OK, I admit I had to get a new Yaesu FTM-400XDR radio after almost burning myself replacing those batteries. It is digital-ready, and instead of batteries to hold the settings, I can write the settings to an SD card, as used in many Smartphones today.  

In my defense, this is one of my few vices.

I also have a new 10- to 12-meter radio and an antenna to be delivered soon. I can already use a segment of the ten-meter band. And what about the 12-meter band? That may be why I would be upgrading my license again.

After installing the radio and antenna, I plan to be calling CQ on 10 meters myself. “CQ 10 meters- This is N6WII; November-6-Whisky-India-India calling CQ . . . And listening . . .”

(Note that the call letters listed here are both mine. N6WII is my current call, and KC6DNQ was my original Novice call. The call letters of that first station heard on my Christmas present walkie-talkie are currently in use, and I decided I should not use those in this piece, although I will always have them stuck in my head.)

Surprise ! (or not)- Now

I am not sure how the hat fits into my growing suspicion that a surprise party is planned for my next birthday. Maybe it is just a classic use of misdirection on Judy’s part. Or maybe it is a poltergeist. Maybe I am just crazy. And it could be a combination of the three. How does a hat I have not worn in ten years or touched in, I don’t know how long, have anything to do with a surprise party? I will get back to the hat later.

I have mentioned before that I have a birthday coming up soon. And I am fine with that. I am also fine with the fact that, most of the time, nobody remembers it or acknowledges it beyond the occasional card or phone call. Over my lifetime, I have had plenty of time to get used to missed birthdays.

Ten years ago, Judy planned a surprise party for my fiftieth. And it worked. I did not suspect a thing. Well, maybe at the last minute or so, I started to suspect when I recognized a couple of cars in the restaurant parking lot where we were supposed to have a quiet dinner together.

It could have been an episode of the old television show, “This Is Your Life,” or maybe the Dean Martin Roasts of the 70’s, but without the insulting comments. She had found people I have known from every part of my life, both major and minor players from my past and present. Somehow, she had found them and gotten them all together in one place at the same time. Surprise!!!! It was perfect. Then.

It was perfect to have that one-time event; however, I never saw any of the party-goers after. And truthfully, it was the last time I had seen or even heard from some of those people. Why try to duplicate perfection? You do not do an updated version of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” That is one argument I could have given her when she mentioned a month or so ago that she wanted to do a surprise party for my sixtieth. You realize, of course, if I know about it, it sort of ruins the surprise? She did, but she also said she needed my help to pull it off at all, surprise or not.

She promised it would be a small number of our closest friends. By then, she had come up with a list of 15. I tried to talk her out of it. I am not sure I can handle the stress of a large group at this point, friends or not. She assured me it would be fine and I should not decide yet. She said, “Sleep on it and tell me tomorrow.”

Well, by “tomorrow,” I was even surer I did not want to do it, no matter how few people were on the list or how they fit into the continuum of my friends. I had decided to tell her to stop planning the party, no matter the size, when she brought it up again. By then, the number of invitees had jumped to more than 30. “I thought of a few more people to invite,” she said. I said that I really did not feel up to 15, and now, at 30 or more, it really was not any better for me. After a long talk, I thought I had gotten through to her that I was not the same person I used to be. I thought the surprise party idea had died. And, it still may be dead.

But I have noticed a few things that made me wonder. For one thing, she has not mentioned the idea again, and it is unlikely that she would give up on something like this. There are phone calls she is hiding from me. I have walked in on conversations she has had, and all participants have quickly stopped talking and looked up at me, as if caught stealing cookies from a cookie jar. I have overheard phone calls about ice cream and restaurants. The list goes on.

Then there is the hat. I promised I would get back to the hat. Like I said earlier, I have this hat I have not touched in several years. I do blow the dust off when I think of it, but I stopped wearing it long ago. It was never the right size, and it felt funny to wear.

I had been out on a weird Sunday errand, which also made me suspicious, since it is a day I usually stick around the home unless we both go out for some reason. When I returned, I went in to change back into my lounging-around-the-house clothes. I picked up a T-shirt to wear, and the hatband of the hat in question fell on the floor at my feet. It seemed so out of context, I did not recognize it at first. The hat usually stays on the top of a hat rack next to the bed. It would be virtually impossible for it to jump off the hat and over to the floor on its own. Yet, there it was at my feet.

I looked at the hat and noticed it did not seem to be exactly in the same spot it had been. I know, how can I be sure it had been moved if I have not touched it recently? I am not sure I have a good answer. It just looked wrong. It was turned slightly from its original position. You notice small things like that when an item hasn’t moved for a long time.

I have to guess that the hat was removed, turned upside down over my clothes, and that the hatband fell off onto my T-shirt, unnoticed by whoever flipped it. Replacing the hat, they also did not notice the missing hatband or that, when replaced, the hat was rotated just a bit from its usual placement.

I know who did it. I just do not know why or how it relates to the possibility that a party is planned. But I have to conclude that the hat means something.

Yep, I go for the “crazy” conclusion too.

Birthdays- Now

Most people who know me, even my friends, have no idea what day my birthday is. It is not like I have not told them before. They just have other things on their minds when I tell them. Or other things on their minds on the day. To be fair, I rarely do much, if anything, for them on their birthdays either. Some of this is a conditioned response. Odds are, if someone forgets my birthday, I will eventually forget theirs. That can be the start of a short but vicious circle.

Part of my forgetfulness is probably because birthdays seemed to be of only minor importance to my parents as I was growing up. At least, my birthday seemed less important than others in the family. Maybe that was because of the day it falls on. Or the fact that much of that day, they may have been hungover.

You all know this day and love it. This is because most workers get this day off every year. A good number get it off with pay. If you must work on this day, you may well get a pay differential of some type. My mom used to tell me that no matter what else, I would always get a paid day off on my birthday. I guess she probably knew I wouldn’t be in a profession that required me to work that day. At the time, though, she may have only been trying to make me feel better, particularly when they seemed to forget to do much of anything for my special day. No present? Not a problem. No cake? Hmm, maybe that is a problem. “Oh, did I tell you that you will always get a paid day off on your birthday?”

She was right about my being paid to be off on all but one occasion. There was one time in my working career that I had to work on my birthday. This one time, I was required to work to verify that everything was really OK after the computerized clocks rolled over into the year 2000. OK, I guess that gave it away. The fixes for the now-infamous “Y2K computer bug” had to be checked and verified to work before running jobs for real in the first work week of the new millennium. Not only did I get paid, but I got paid double-time for less than a full day’s work. My mom would have been proud of me.

I mention all of this now because this approaching birthday is a milestone of sorts. In fact, it is a major milestone. I must be old if I am talking about “major milestones.” This one is my 60th. I am just letting you all know far enough in advance to be able to get your shopping for my presents done before all of the lesser upcoming holidays push my birthday out of your awareness, and yes, even your memory. What’s that? You did not plan to get me anything for my birthday? Not even a card? That’s OK, really. You are in good company. As I said earlier, very few of the people I know plan to do anything either.

11/22/63- Now and Then

11/22/1963

I can’t believe we are coming up on the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy. Well, maybe I believe that much. I just find it difficult to believe that I am old enough to remember this date.

As a class, we had all gathered with everyone else in front of our school’s only television to watch his inauguration a few years before. My classes followed things in the news. We may have known in advance that Kennedy would be in Dallas on this day.

I had had a dream the night before. In the dream, I found myself standing in an office in front of a vacant wooden desk. There are various framed family photos on the desk, and one of them is face down. In the background, I hear a woman sobbing. I look to my left and see an empty wooden rocking chair. I wake up.

The morning of the twenty-second, school goes on normally, at least at first. We are in our separate reading groups. At some point, I remember our school principal coming to my classroom door and motioning to my teacher to come out. When she comes back, she is visibly shaken. She calls us out of our groups to return to our usual seats.

She tells us that something terrible has happened. I know right away that this must involve President Kennedy.

She goes on to say that what has happened is maybe the worst thing that could have happened. I know then that he is dead.

She tells us the news, and the class gasps. One girl screams. Another starts to cry. We are released to go home, having been told that details are still sketchy as to how this happened.

I wonder how I knew, right before my teacher told us, that she would give us this particular earth-shattering news, and I remember the dream I had. I have had other precognitive dreams since, but nothing of this noteworthy historic nature.

And fifty years later, people are still wondering if what we know about this event is really how it happened.

Goodbye old friends- Now

You were right. The chainsaws have not stopped yet.

I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you.

They are taking down the pecan now. At least you are not here to see it go, but you will no doubt see its end.

It was the poplar they destroyed earlier. Now the hawks will have no home to come back to.

My tears are for our old friends and how their loss will impact you. And for the hawks who have lost their home today.  

And for everything else.