Imaginary Family...or are they?

So, I was conducted in the cousin-mobiles (they suspiciously switched cars at some point) to the GQ couple's house in a nearby town; where everyone is clean, polite, well to do, and, oddly, youth doesn't appear to be wasted on the young---they seem to use it well.

The GQ couple has two GQ children, ages 13 and 10.  OK, 10 1/2.   If you know nicer, more gentle and polite children of that age, I'm certain you are lying.  A girl and a boy.   The cool thing is that we are blood relatives, not too distantly diluted.

I have a calendar with their picture on it, and who in SD county can prove that Mrs. GQ is not my daughter, and the sweet children not my favorite grandchildren?  Who wouldn't sympathize with me because her mother, my late wife, died in an unfortunate lab accident while on the verge of discovering a sure fire cure for the common cold?

I lost her when Mrs GQ was only three years old.  We made it through and have always been close.  It wasn't always easy protecting her from the bitter truth that the fatal explosion was undoubtedly not an accident.  Believe me, many of the outfits which peddle remedies for cold symptoms do not want a cure to emerge.   And they have plenty of political clout.  Tragic.

When you are raising a child under such circumstances you find courage you never knew was in you.  Anything to protect the child and ensure that she thrives.  I'm so proud of the woman she's become.  A forty year old mother of two who looks to be a healthy twenty five.  Her husband is clearly her soul mate.  And no one could ask for better parents.  Her mom must be very gratified.  I can feel her joy in the after life.

Those kids are encouraging me to find someone special, and maybe I will.  My late sweetheart, Willowanne, would kick my butt for waiting so long.  She was always the pragmatic one, and sincerely concerned for my happiness and well being.

I try not to brag on my daughter's family too much.  It only makes others feel inferior.  What a joy, though, to visit, to have the grandkids jump for joy when I enter the room.  They've all won so many awards for everything from science projects to tennis tournaments to saving lives back in the big flood of '07 that a separate room is required to hold all the plaques, diplomas, trophies and certificates.

Great way to start the new year.  I'll take their advice when I return home.

It's Diverse and Multi-cultural!!! Yay

My cousin lives in a neighborhood with all the flavor and benefits of multi-culturalism.   We are, of course, tolerant because all cultures are equal, except the one we won't mention.

The vibrancy of diversity is clearly evident on New Year's eve in some cities.  It is tradition, allegedly, in some people's old countries to fire guns into the air at midnight on New Year's eve for some reason.  Maybe they are trying to kill either the old year or the new, or both.  Perhaps they think they can shoot out a star as one would a street light.

They seemed OK during the day.  But at midnight, it was like urban warfare.   The one on this side fires off a few rounds.  Pretty soon the one on the other side fires off a few rounds plus some.  The the one in back fires.  Then one of the others fires a clearly more powerful weapon.  "My gun is bigger, therefore better and much more macho."

I need to get the paper to see if anyone reaped the benefit of a falling bullet.  This is a big city.  But then so is Miami and many fine folks there have been known to do the same thing.  I'm thinking maybe a titanium hat business could thrive on such holidays in these cities.

Apparently it is a Latin American thing.  It may be that gravity is taught to about the same extent in their schools as logic and history are taught in ours.  So many immigrants have the advantage of not having to clutter their mind with any of those things if they get here at the right age.  All in the timing.

For some reason I found myself shocked as multiple rounds were rapid fired into the air.  I thought anyone would be aware that death to innocents could result.  And that anyone would categorize that as a thing to be avoided.

I think they believe the bullets go way up into the sky and the saints catch them, turn them into gold, and if they are very good little muchachos then sometime in the new year their patron saints will put gold nuggets under their pillows.  It never happens but that can be explained because they haven't been good enough.  They failed to do confession right.

Miserable sinners full of Catholic guilt.  "Maybe next year if I give los santos 40 bullets instead of 20 they will bless me with gold under my pillow."   I'm good at reading the thoughts of such people.

So, what are they doing today?  Raking leaves.  Ay, dios mio, if only these leaves had been raked, maybe I would have been blessed for the new year.  I think it was an act of penance.  Maybe next year will be better and finally I get the gold under the pillow. Never mind no one knows of anyone who has had such fortune first hand.  But there are stories and rumors of pious peasants in far away towns who were blessed.  And this is how we all benefit from embracing the facets of the culture which made the third world what it is today.

Over Half Way Home

There may be a word for it.  It may even be one of the many new mental illnesses they've created, or signs of domestic terrorism, like disagreeing with the police state buy body government.  It seems I am at home everywhere, and nowhere.  Nowhere is really home, but at the same time many places are.

I don't care.  It has little to do with anything.  I made it to Dallas on time and without problem.  The cool thing is that I took the high road through Louisiana.  Far better than I-10 (thee 10 in California speak).  Not only that but I made it into Texas before stopping for the night.  Rightly or wrongly I feel better in Texas than Louisiana.
To a point.

Now I am in no hurry to get home, part of the time.  This was an unusual trip and when I get home I have to figure out how to make more money, keep an eye out for cheap flights to S.Florida, while somehow managing to manipulate someone special through subliminal assault.  Otherwise why worry with flying back?

Gotta go.  I'm in cousin land. Off for Mexican food.

Florida is a little off beat

So, I meet my friend in Panama City Beach and follow him into the high rise complex in which he lives.  It appears to be a complicated place with inconveniently located parking garages and various security measures in place.

We take one of the elevators to the 8th floor, punch in the secret door code that opens the door, and enter the apartment.  "What are these papers doing on the floor?", he asks as he darts into the master bedroom.  "Someone has been in my apartment!!".

The balcony runs the length of the bedroom and adjacent living room, a floor to ceiling wall on either side.  The curtain in the bedroom by the glass door is pulled back and draped over a chair.  The door i closed.  His laptop is in plain view.  I commented that they didn't take the computer.

He sees nothing missing.

So, he goes down to the lobby/command center of the complex.  Mystery solved.  The police had been in his place!  It seems a neighbor woman had edged around the wall and was somehow perched on the outside of his balcony rail on the two inches of slab that extends outside the railing threatening to jump.

It is a long way down and does not look like landing would be soft.  The cops had entered his place disrupting the drapes, knocked a stack of papers off the kitchen counter, snatched the woman so she didn't off herself making a big mess down below, and left without any notification or calling card or anything.

Jump! Jump!

Jump! Jump!

View off in the distance

It is good they nabbed the chick--she could have fallen on an innocent child or other unsuspecting soul. It is bad that no one from the building or the cop factory left any word that they were there.  Weird all the way around.  Apparently my friend's neighbors are an upper middle aged couple who argue a lot.  She must have run out of things to say in their ongoing angry debate.

Par for the course in this part of the country.  Possibly the result of mosquitoes or swamp gas.

If the nothing else the human race is very adept at weirdness and self destruction.  I wonder why.

I'm out of here tomorrow.  I think my marketing plan, or plan of attack, may be having the intended effect on my target, the enigmatic RR.  That could be a cool thing.  The 3000 mile issue is one I will have to resolve, should my efforts truly be fruitful.  For various reasons time is on my side, but not enough time to be a slacker.

I want to smoke, but I have not done so for almost ten days.   I'm a few hours short of that.  I'm pretty sure that 13 days is the mark that ends the worst of it.  Plus there are those lozenges which ease the impulse.  It helps having the sort of reason that motivates me.  Few things do.

No matter what anyone says, I think there is more to life than meets the eye, even though I can neither define nor explain it.  This trip has much of that so far.

It's Official-I'm a Sap; or it could be a mark of senility

Trouble

I guess I won't post the picture--it is on facebook somewhere anyway.  But I have to say I was caught by surprise.

What am I going to do now?

Anyway, I decided to drive up to Miami to see R. and her parents.  I grew up down the street from me. I mean I grew up down the street from her. She's my age.   There is no real direct history there but a great deal of common ground.  Her mom was the hottest mom on the block.  A Georgia girl.

Her dad is now 93, totally lucid, and fairly healthy.  He was an airline pilot, and much else.  What was news to me is that he likes to write and ha written several books about his experiences in the airlines, world war II, and I'm not sure what else.

I had no idea that I would be so mesmerized by the three of them.  R moved back to the apartment at the end of their swimming pool to help them out and for other purposes.  And I'm not sure but I think she has not seen the last of me.  Who knows if that goes both ways.  But as I said when I landed the one I married, years ago, who cares?

This sort of trouble hasn't visited me in years.  Probably just another of my loose wires acting up.  However I think I am going to make a project of finding out.

I may be old but I am not dead.  That became almost embarrassingly evident during the visit.

At last, a goal.  And a plan.

Baby Rabbits

My nephews are probably a bigger influence on me than is usually the case with uncles and such.   Once upon a time I could carry them around while making various threats, one under each arm.  The threats weren't all that bad--deportation, forced attendance in public school, that sort of thing.

They became too large to carry a time passed.  Neither one seemed in too big a hurry to have kids, although #1 did go for marriage a bit quick the first time.  Blink a couple of times and they've multiplied.  Bam bam bam, burp me ma'am.

Finally all the babies have arrived.  I'm hoping the two six month olds will cry in unison because I predict an exquisite harmon that only comes from sharing the same gene pool.   So far they both appear to be way too happy most of the time, and far too easy of temperament.  I bet I can fix that!

The 2 yr 9month old hasn't figured out just who I am or why I am here yet, but he went straight from the flight in to the extended family's Noche Buena party.  I arrived after they had been at that house for a few hours.  She seemed to think the place was a hotel, or at least that is what he called it.  But, like me, she loved the salsa music.  This is a case in which you remain aloof until the kid seeks your favor.  This girl is quite adept at outsmarting adults in a very clever and pleasant way.

Christmas morning will be a trip.  There will be nine adults, all of whom are some form of blood relative to all three rug rats.   Most all are nuts in very different ways.  I think the kids are lucky, but only time will tell.  I hope they don't get too much of whatever it is I have to much of in my make-up.

I will say this: my nephews landed incredibly spiffy mates and produced an abundance of cuteness.  The rate at which they suddenly multiplied, and for all I know may continue doing so, is mildly alarming.

The tiny ones seem to take to me well, so I'm pretty sure they must both be above average.

Non Productive Lives

A family member's comments in a discussion indicated the belief that if one hasn't built a long lasting career, achieved financial success, snagged a spouse and had children, that this represents a non productive life.  That is probably accurate, I guess.  But it makes me feel like wasted space on the planet.

Plus, I am not sure I buy that definition.  Plenty of murdering politicians, gangsters, and other creeps have all the trappings of family life and material worth.  Many are even talented in various ways, have intelligent hobbies, etc.  It still stings.

It is one of the reasons I left Florida and moved far away from my family--I found myself pointing a loaded rifle between my eyes way too many times after various interactions with them. (winchester 3030 saddle model) Why, I am not sure. It seemed the only decision that would ensure never having to feel the criticism, disapproval, or unwarranted advice which reeked of disrespect.  Amazing how quickly that feeling, that internal reaction can still be triggered.  Only now I know to ignore it.  It does make me sad, even though no one means such harm, I don't think.

But it may be that I'll never be out of the woods on that.  Maybe not having that lurking thing that makes me want to give up, totally, is my only real goal.  At least when I care enough to have a goal.

Few people want to be a waste of life and space.  It is hard to resign one's self to the idea of being useless and leaving no positive mark on the world.  At least it is for me.  That is why I find the idea of living off of some government thing like social security somewhat abhorrent.  Though I don't fault other who do.  They probably paid more in than I did.

It is a confusing life and family muddies the view of it even more.  They do not mean to do it, in my case.  Things that may seem mean are not intended.  Not everyone has insight enough to see these things.  I actually think I do at this point in life, which is why I'm doing better about not reacting.  They may be able to win in civilization and thrive in a police state, but I have better empathy with both the "productive" and the "non productive".  Maybe empathy is the wrong word.  Insight, possibly.

That's the stuff that makes a person want to smoke and use drugs.

Check Eng

What a surprise it was- after loading my car, locking the dwelling, and driving up the hill to deposit a bag of garbage into the assigned dumpster, with intent of then traveling back down the hill and eventually to florida--when the CHECK ENG light illuminated as I descended the hill.  What to do?

All packed up and can't go?  I was not happy with this turn of events.  Was my car telling me to check my English?  If so, was its suggestion in the context of language, or perhaps billiards?  Have I always been so confused and out of the loop?

I chose the best option. Turn off the car at the bottom of the hill.  Get out and look under the hood for something telling; errors in grammar or other obvious clues which may have generated this alarming warning.  Then I decided to casually walk around in circles>  Ignore this unknown problem and it will surely go away.

Finally I disconnected the battery, removed and replaced the gas cap, then mustered the courage to start the car after reconnecting the battery.  Disconnecting a battery is known to temporarily clear the Check Eng light.  Last time I did this the light returned in less than a minute, eventually leading to moderately expensive repair of the seals around the spark plug guides---not found on all engine designs.

This time the light remained off.  I drove ten miles to Alpine.  Still off.  I bought ice for my cooler of food.  Still off.  I drove east to the scenic view point.   I checked the oil, kicked the tires.  Still off.

So, here I am in Benson, AZ.  No check eng light so far.  I tried to watch my language all the way here.  I almost lost my temper at the border patrol, sniffing-dog roadblock on the way here.  "Are you a U.S. citizen?"  Yes.

"Where are you coming from?"  San Diego.  "Oh. Do you live there?"  Nearby.  "Where are you going?"  Florida!  "That's a long way"  Yes, a long way.  "So, why are you going there?"  Geez! Why would you even ask me that?   "It' a simple question, sir."  I'm going because I want to!!!  "Have a nice day".  (inaudible)@#$%^&* @#$%^&*!!!!!  And I didn't trust the look on that dog's face.  He was just waiting for cues.  I don't think he could sniff out a skunk without prompting.

I hate roadblocks.  I hate proving innocence regarding crimes of which there is absolutely no reason to believe I am guilty, and which have not even been named, and have not occurred.  Those of us who see armed state agents as a possibly necessary evil, see the minimization of the evil aspects as desirable.

I'll won't argue against the necessity of government, neither will I argue for it.  I see the accepted forms of authority--human over human--as highly prone to trouble, abuse, and amorality.  Detention without cause has become a generally accepted tactic, though not by me.

I'll continue to check my English when in the presence of unwelcome armed inquisitors whose job is base upon the following model:  this person is not armed or employed by the State.  Criminals are allegedly not armed or employed by the state therefore this person could be a criminal.  We will treat him as such until he proves his innocence.  We will decide what constitutes innocent.

That's the only sense I make of this warning light.

The roadblocks are my number one complaint about the west.  It was a serious, dangerous, destructive turning point in our culture when the idea of warrant-less search became the everyday approach to controlling the citizens.  It is one of the big steps toward the decay of our country.

I hope to make it to the Keys without incident.

Who Dumped All This Stuff on Me?

Somewhere along the way, things I thought had been sorted, were hiding.  And multiplying.  This is the curse of those who lack routine and who can't filter the evidence of past life, accomplishments and failures without experiencing an awful feeling which is hard to simply name.

It feels like the sudden fear one experiences when realizing that an obligation has not been met, or a responsibility has been neglected.  Like leaving the stove on when leaving home, or forgetting to pick up the baby from day care; that sort of thing.

It also has that guilt tinged fear and remorse that would come if one didn't remember to pick up serious medicine for an invalid relative or similar transgression against such a simple trust.  I think there is some form of grief at the heart of this.  What is being grieved is unknown, but refusing to face the evil contents of old files, and related documents and mementos tends to cause the free floating grief and fear to be amplified when finally faced.

It is probably not as bad as it was.  A lot of useless refuse from the old days has been cast into the trash where it belongs, with a sigh of good riddance.  I dwell less upon thee things.  I find things which seem totally foreign to me.  I know these thing were once related to my life, but I have no recollection of them at all.

Overall, every time I consider the organizing of the items relevant to my life, fear plays in my gut.  A morbid feeling.  I thought I had rid myself of these worthless emotional triggers.  I guess most of it has been sorted, but I find not yet enough has been faced.

Now to stow what needs stowing in the newly emptied bins---mostly tools and related objects.  Then pack what I need, run around doing errands and hit the road Sunday morning.

I'll be wary of freezing children selling pencils, considering the long ago attack upon the person of the great grandfather of Belmondo, ballistic Tour guide.
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