Twice upon a mattress

The Tempur-Pedic mattress had to go. It had lost its mind. Or, at least its memory. Evidently, the combined weight of two "traditionally built" individuals overcame its ability to rebound and there were two people-sized holes where there should have been support and comfort.

But what to replace it with? Consumers Report had a recent comparison of mattresses and the one it recommended highest happened to be on sale this past week for 50% off. It's a traditional mattress; maybe that will be better for "traditionally built" people.

There is one consideration. It is a "pillow-top" mattress, and that's sort of a mattress on top of a mattress, so when it was placed on the box springs, the top of the bed is this far from the floor!

Yes, 29 inches to the top of the bed! We need step-stools to get into bed! And if one were to fall out of bed (It could happen. Again.) it might result in serious injury!

Barb and I were reminded of an Inn in Twin Lakes Colorado, where we spent the night some time back.They had proudly advertised feather beds, and when we were shown to our room, there was indeed, a feather mattress on the bed. It resembled a very large, very plumped up pillow, the size of the entire bed, rising to a majestic peak in the middle that we could barely see over! In order to stay in this bed and not roll off the mattress onto the floor, we had to grasp hands and cling to each other, one to a side!

Fortunately, our new mattress does not peak. It is more like a mesa. A flat, but very tall mesa. Sort of like the ones you see in John Wayne Westerns. Why, yes, it does!

Monday Meandering - 5.27.2013

Hope this Memorial Day is going well for you. I love four-day weekends. Oh, wait...

Well, the tee shirts that say "Welcome to Austin - Please Don't Move Here" are not working, people! The Census Bureau says that Austin is now the 11th largest city in the US, skipping over Indianapolis and Jacksonville. We are also 5th in population growth, only 5 people behind San Antonio in that category, so watch out #10 San Jose. The Bureau says 70 people a day are moving to town! Not surprisingly, last week another group confirmed what those of us who live here already knew - we also rank in the top 3 for traffic congestion. Sigh.

Interesting things you find in the Family Tree:

• A cousin that played professional baseball.  Lloyd Wallis, son of my father's sister, was a pitcher in the minor leagues in the '50s and early '60s. As far as I can tell, he never got called up to the Show, but he played for teams like the Durham Bulls in the Carolina League, Oklahoma City in the American Association and Salt Lake City in the Pacific Coast League.
• I found a relative - a 3 great grandfather, actually - with five(!) wives. Life was hard on the frontier.
• Even more interesting, I found a relative of a relative with 14 wives! Does it surprise you that he lived in Salt Lake City in the late 1700s? Actually there is quite a little cluster of Mormons in the Tree; most have multiple wives, and there are a lot of names like Ebinezer, Hezikiah, Shadrach and Joseph. None of them are in the direct family line, for what that's worth.

If you don't read this blog from the homepage - in other words, use a reader program to aggregate your blogs - you may have missed the links to the blogs of my daughter, Julie and that of son-in-law Jason.  I had an old link to Julie's blog for a long time, so be sure and  check out Teaching the Little People for some delightful experiences in the world of small-person education. And Jason has recently posted an intriguing series on the decline of the church. His target area has been the West Coast, but the articles have a lot of significance for churches everywhere. Check 'em out.

Texas Monthly has released it's quinquennial list of the best BBQ joints in Texas, only this year they have scratched in Texas and replaced it with "in the world." This has, predictably, drawn some reaction from places like North Carolina, Memphis, Kansas City and (get a rope) New York. This in addition to the normal grousing in the form of  "How could you possibly omit..." and "You have got to be kidding..." The reaction has been so vehement they are calling it World War Q (or popularly, #WWQ). 

Looking over the list, I see that our family has taken advantage of a number of the top-ranking purveyors, in keeping with the family motto, "Life is too short to eat bad BBQ." We have not, however, eaten at the number one spot, Franklin Barbecue, even though it is right here in Austin, a scant 9 miles from the house. The reason? I need some company, because eating at Franklin's requires arriving about 10AM and standing in line for an hour or two, hoping the meat is not gone by the time you get to the counter. Well, it used to require standing in line for a couple of hours; now that the place has been honored so, the wait has grown to as much as 4 hours, especially on the weekends! Of late, the line has been so long they have put up the "Out of Meat" sign before officially opening!

You see, Barb is less interested in BBQ than I am, and standing in line for a couple of hours for food is simply not something she considers the best use of her time. And since Franklin's is only open for lunch, from 11am till he's out of meat (often shortly after 12), if you aren't willing to queue up for 'que, you don't get to eat at Franklin's.

So who's up for a little wait? Or a long wait, unless we let the buzz die down some. Texas Monthly, and a whole bunch of fans, like Bon Appetite Magazine and the Wall Street Journal say it's worth it. 

Here's a sample:

 

Panhandler Profiles - Revisited

You have them where you live, too; the ubiquitous street-corner panhandler, flying a cardboard flag and dealing for dollars. Seems like every corner has one, from early morning's light until late in the night. And after long and careful study I find most fit in some definite categories. Maybe you've noticed:

The happy guy -  He waves at everybody, change or no. Big smiles and eye contact, not a care in the world, he's just out there to make his little corner a better place. Very few women in this category (with a notable exception discussed later).

The mannequin - Not a twitch. This one stares off into space with no interaction at all; depends on peripheral vision to catch proffered change. A lot of women use this style. Not to be confused with the next type:

The zombie -  You are not sure this one ever moves. At all. I've seen one guy hunkered down in front of a guard rail for weeks on end. Sometimes you wonder about calling EMS...Wait! Was that a blink?

Crying girl - I thought this was unique to one person, but I have now seen others using the technique; tears run down her cheeks, face turned away, humiliation almost more than she can bear. Crying on demand is a very useful ability for a panhandler, but I wonder if she gets dehydrated in this heat?

Life history on the sign -  Vietnam Vet, ex-Marine, Paratrooper, Child of God, Peacenik. Needing a bus ticket/cheeseburger/tank of gas and 39 cents short. The sign is a work in process; every square inch covered with symbols, scriptures and pleas.

The real pros -  Usually a couple, they have worked a particular corner for years. They live in the minor-league motel down the street, and take vacations.

Hears the voices -  You are never quite sure about these these guys. It's not just a drummer; there's a whole band playing in there. Just for them.

Hears the voices and argues with them - I have been known to run red lights rather than have to stop next to one of these guys.

Bikini Babes - The before-mentioned female counterpart to the Happy Guy. They are smokin' hot, happy to see you and you can even get your picture taken with them for a donation toward their rent money. Sadly, I've encountered only one instance of this type (and they got arrested for creating a traffic hazard). Seems hardly fair. I didn't hit the guy stopped in front of me that hard!

Windshield washers - What can I say? They work for their money. I just wish it wasn't on the car in front of me when the light has long since turned green.

The band between gigs - There's 3 or 4 of them and twice that many guitars. Loser has to panhandle while the others get to practice their art. Walked by a group of these on the Santa Clara boardwalk and got a custom four-part harmonized appeal.

The gang -  Similar to the band, above, but with no discernible musical talent, these guys have staked out an intersection, or patch of concrete next to a panhandle stand and that becomes the boys club. Everybody congregates there, passing the paper bag, taking turns holding the cardboard.

The squatter -  A plastic crate to sit on - or even a lawn chair - appears first. Then there's a few plastic bags of assorted stuff, a backpack or two, assorted water bottles and oh yeah, don't forget the dog. And the dog dish, and...

The invalids - Pick your affliction. They look up new diseases on the Internet at the public library and have half-a-dozen signs to choose from. Some use props like crutches - until they have to run for their bus. Yes, I did see that. For some, they are not props. We regularly see a one-legged woman with a sign that reads "On my last leg."

Monday Meanderings - 05.20.2013

He said: (to the squirrel standing stock-still, upright in the middle of the road as our car approached) "Move, dummy! Get out of the road! Didn't your mother ever teach you anything!"
She said: "No. She probably got run over before she had a chance."

I'm playing another kind of chicken with the squirrels as well. Waiting to see just how long I dare leave a ripening tomato on the vine. Hoping to harvest it before the squirrels (and birds) do. Our two bushes are heavy with wonderful-looking tomatoes; I've plucked a few already and they are ripening nicely as we speak, just waiting for a good sandwich to hop into.

Our insurance company sent us a whiz-bangy new blood pressure monitor as part of a pilot program. Among other things, this monitor "talks" to you - a female voice first tells you how to use it and then it tells you the results of the test. I tried it out, and the voice said, "In a quarter-mile, turn right." Recalculating.

Yesterday was Senior Sunday at church, honoring our graduating high-schoolers, when we acknowledge that our kids are all above average.  You know how it goes; as each Senior is called up, someone reads his or her accomplishments, they play a recorded message about "What Westover means to me." The kids hug the Huddle leaders, get their Bible, graciously acknowledge the kudos, and then sit down. Except there's always one kid. You know the one I'm talking about - the kid that's sharp, good-looking, accomplished - and the class clown. He's the one who shows up in a fluorescent orange suit, with shoes and tie to match! Where do you even get a fluorescent orange suit? For all I know, he made it himself.

Did you know that when the Texas Rangers score 7 or more runs in a game, you get 50% off your pizza order from Pappa John's the next day? The Rangers have been hitting very well lately. That's a mixed blessing, waist-line wise.

Enjoy your week.

Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot...Stories from the Family Tree

I came across an interesting find in Barb's family tree this past week. While digging around in the outer branches, I came across the name Robert Burns. Surely not, I thought. By golly, it is, I discovered. Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, author of Auld Lang Syne, and To a Mouse (not to mention To a Louse) is waaay out on a limb of Barb's ancestral tree.

To be sure, she is not a direct descendant of Robbie. Not even close. In fact, the way it works is that a great great grand-uncle of Barb's was married to a woman whose grandfather was the brother of Burn's wife, Jean Armour. Did you follow that? And there's the story.

In High School English Literature they skipped over the part about Burns being quite the scoundrel. There may have been a quiet mention in College English Literature, but I went to Abilene Christian and we didn't talk much  about those things there, either.

Turns out that Robert's first child, Elizabeth Paton Burns, was born to his mother's servant, Elizabeth Paton while he was courting Miss Armour, who became pregnant with twins in 1786. Burns signed a paper attesting his marriage to Jean, but her father tore it up, "in the greatest distress, and fainted away." To avoid disgrace, her parents sent Jean to live with her uncle in Paisley.

Meanwhile, with Jean away and with Burns gaining some success as a poet, he managed to fall in love with Mary Campbell, whom he had seen in church. Some say they exchanged Bibles and plighted their troth over the Water of Fail in a traditional form of marriage, but alas, Mary died of typhus only a few months later, and that ended that.

Burn's rising popularity (and income) as a poet eventually won over Jean Armour's father and Robert and Jean were officially married in 1788 (by this time he had fathered four children with Armour, one of which was living). They eventually had nine children; only three survived infancy.

Evidently, the domestic life didn't appeal to Burns; he went off to Edinburgh, where he embarked on a relationship with the separated Agnes "Nancy" McLehose, with whom he exchanged passionate letters under pseudonyms. Nancy eventually reconciled with her husband, but Burns had already moved on to Jenny Clow, Nancy's domestic servant, who bore him a son, Robert Burns Clow, in 1788. He also had an affair with a servant girl, Margaret "May" Cameron.

There's more, but you get the picture. In fact, Wikipedia says that through his twelve children by four different women, Burns has over 600 living descendants as of 2012.  So it's actually somewhat surprising, and somewhat of a relief, that Barb is not actually related to auld Robbie.

Monday Meanderings - 5.13.2012

Rain! Oh, my! It was so nice to hear it really, really raining Friday night. Doesn't put us anywhere near out of the drought, but wonderful to get.

The big news in Lake Woebegone is that the Pres came to town this past week. Normally he comes here for fund-raiding events, but this time ostensibly the reason was to spotlight some things that Texas was doing right in the area of technology. It must have galled him to promote Texas, because Governor Goodhair says the reason the economy is so good here is that we do the exact opposite of what the Obama Administration wants done.

Of course, whenever he shows up they shut down all the traffic within miles. His first visit was to nearby Manor (which we pronounce "MAIN-er," but the TV newscasters pronounced "MAN-er" all day) to a technology magnet school. Then, to his credit, he stopped at Stubb's for a little BBQ. I think more highly of the man than I did.

Speaking of good things to eat, the Peach Shakes are back at Chik-Fil-A. Barb and I shared one the other day. It had been over-filled and when we got it to the table a bunch was running down the sides of the container. I don't know why Barb got so upset over me lapping it up off the table - a Chik-Fil-A Peach Shake is not something you want to go to waste! Only problem with them is that sometimes the chunks of peach are awfully hard to suck through the straw. One could pass out from the strain of trying to get that good stuff up the straw!

Had an iPad crisis last night. I had removed some programs that I didn't use, then re-started the iPad to clean up and consolidate things. Unfortunately the device got hung up on the little silver Apple logo (which I have since learned is called the "Apple screen of death.") Tried all the tricks and multiple button-pushes listed in the Apple Support forums to no avail, so I made an appointment at the Genius Bar and set it aside to recharge. Grumble, snarl, gripe!  But as I was getting ready for bed, I checked and everything was up and running. Nice Machine!

I think it was Dr. Ian Malcom, in Jurassic Park that said, "Nature will find a way."

Robert L. Wood - Summited - 5.5.2013

Bobby Wood - who began herding city kids up mountain peaks back in the late '70s, with little more than some borrowed camping gear and a dream - lost his battle with cancer this past Sunday.

By the time we first met Bobby in 1984, his dream had become Wilderness Trek, based a few miles from Twin Lakes, Colorado on a little hill of land that looked west to Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive. By that time, hundreds of kids had been "on trek" and thousands more were to come in the years to follow. I have blogged from time-to-time about our trekking adventures in Colorado. The most detailed description is here .

Bobby was a unique and complicated individual, often suggesting that he had been born in the wrong century. He was at home in  the back country, and if you were not - all the better; your mistakes were the best teacher, he felt, and he rejoiced in your learning experiences!  If you pitched your tent with the flap facing uphill so rainwater would run in, not around your tent, you would learn not to do that again. If you filled your water jugs with water and lugged an extra 20 pounds up a mountain to high camp - set beside a clear babbling brook, he would let you do that.

Wilderness Trek was designed for young people. He tolerated the adults only because he knew that without a few of them along, he would have a harder time convincing parents to let him take kids into the back country. And the entire experience was a setup for the Thursday night campfire, where the kids put the week's struggles and victories into perspective. Trek was a life-changing experience. I know.

Like the rest of us, Bobby struggled.  Wilderness Trek continues the dream today, but the current organization draws a very careful line of demarcation between now and then. Our friend Reg Cox put it best:

Growing up in Texas there were many things that made it a man’s world. Westerns, old guys who “initiated” us boys through hard work and the other culturally popular icons of those days. When Faith captured my heart I yearned for the man’s man model of loving Jesus. One of those men was Bobby Wood. It’s one thing to be tough when things go well but I was blessed to know both sides of his faith ride and he came out on the other side of struggle loving Jesus till the end. End…so we’ve come to that end today. It’s the end of this life for a flawed yet grace cloaked Jesus loving man of God. He was a hero to many…to me. He’s graduated now…crouched over the camp fire along the shore of the crystal sea. Hunkered down swapping stories with weathered disciples and heroes of old while singing songs and not forgetting all the words this time. It’s an honor to know fragile strength and honest faith. It’s rare to find guides to can lead one through the blustery posers of religion and into the honed heart of the long grace embrace. Thanks Bob…I am one who loves Jesus more because I knew you.

Amen.

Monday Meanderings - 5.6.2013

My sister quoted a family member: "Winter and Summer are fighting over Spring." True at the moment, and the weekend was simply gorgeous, but we sort of know how this is going to turn out, don't we?

One of my favorite salty snacks is Fritos and Bean Dip. I don't indulge often, because the simple fact is the stuff is bad for you. Salt, fried corn and lard; how could that hurt you?  So all the planets have to be aligned just right, or it has to be a special occasion, like the Super Bowl, or a trip to the coast.

My wife, on the other hand, has no compunction about when Fritos should be eaten. She's not interested in the Bean Dip, but any Frito sitting around is a Frito to be consumed, and quite often, when I get the urge for my favorite salty snack, there are no more Fritos. Gone. Consumed. Eaten. People! I have Bean Dip, lovely, creamy, fat-laden bean dip, just waiting to be lovingly, carefully scooped up by a fresh Frito chip - and there are no Fritos!

So this week we brought home yet another sack of Frito's from the store...and I hid them. I'm not proud of it, but I immediately stashed them where Barb will never find them! Do you know where I hid them? Me neither. I could use some help here. I know they are in the house somewhere. I think.

At Learning Ally this week, I was reading all the introductory material in the front of a new book - table of contents, author's notes about why this edition is ever so much better than the previous edition, etc. One section dealt with all the stuff available to the the teacher - lecture notes, prepared tests, and such - and mentioned a service called Turnitin.com, a plagiarism detection service. You submit your student's papers to the service and they check them against 24+ billion web pages, 300+ million student papers and 110,000+ publications, pointing out likenesses and out-and-out copy and paste sections. I guess educators are well aware of services like this, but this was my first encounter. Thank goodness all my essays and research papers were in the pre-Internet era!

My cardiologist decided to put me on a monitor to check out my PVCs - Premature Ventricular Contractions.  A normal heart beat goes flub-dub, flub-dub, flub-dub. Occasionally my heart goes flub-dub, flub......dub,DUB,dub. PVCs are irksome, but harmless and the monitor is just to confirm that's what's going on. Normally, they tape some leads to you and you carry this gizmo around for a week, but my doctor has this new type monitor. I call it the Game Boy.

 

When you want to monitor what's going on, you pull out the Game Boy and push the buttons (under the thumbs). When you are done you transmit the recording by phone or computer. Cool. So far, I have the high score.

Revisiting The Magic Cup of Coffee

It's been a busy day. After breakfast and a stop at the Post Office, Barb and I headed in different directions - she to run errands and walk; me to the RFB&D studio. We met up again mid-afternoon - she prepped  for class and I trimmed some limbs to a size suitable to put out for the trash man. Separate cars to Chuy's and she's off to class while I go by the library and check in/out books.

I'm home alone now, and it's time to brew a magic cup of coffee and go sit out on the patio to watch the evening gather. It's chilly and overcast tonight and darkness will come quickly. This afternoon while on the treadmill, I counted a dozen Finches swarming the feeder, eating furiously as if they couldn't keep the fires stoked in their tiny high-octane engines; now they are done feeding, the metabolism has been dialed back, and they are making nesting noises. They are a rowdy bunch and create quite a cacophony; one in particular is really ticked off about something. She sounds like an angry pressure cooker, clattering away. Gradually they settle down and here and there pairs of Finches will volley a single short note back and forth, as if they are reassuring each other that the kids are home and all is well. If I am very still, the occasional bird will come to the water dish at my feet for a bed-time sip of water.

I recognize the liquid call of the Redbirds. They are flying back and forth between this yard and the next, as if they are trying to decide which tree to settle in. There's only one Blue-jay in sight; it calls anxiously, noisily, for it's mate - late getting home from the office. A couple of Mourning Doves coo quietly as they gather up the last of the manna that has fallen from the feeders on high.

Finally, the only sounds are the muffled wheels of cars, hurrying past over on Cameron. The magic cup of coffee is empty.  I gather my cup and my blessing and go inside for the night.