A Few Final Pictures

I was rummaging about in my wild west photo safari collection over the weekend and thought I might publish a few more pics, just to see how I (and others) received them.  Sometimes, ya just have to step back and look at a picture from a distance - in space and time.  So, here goes:




Cabin on the high plains

 The tiny cabin with windmill floats on an ocean of west Texas prairie.  There are no other structures in sight.  Ageless, there's no telling when it was built, but I estimate it is pushing a century of years.  On the good side, the nearest roadway is half a mile away, so the kids could play outdoors without fear of traffic. On the downside, the nearest rattlesnake was probably under the house.
Ssssssssssssssssssss!



Twin Peaks, AZ







These twin peaks are located somewhere in Arizona.  I think they can be seen from western New Mexico since they have little competition in altitude and uniqueness.  It is nigh impossible to get a good picture of a mountain.  The massive scale is often lost in translation. Still I make the effort.  Maybe one day...



Derelict Cabin

 The cabin at right won the "Most Hopeless" award for nothern California.   I would be surprised if it survived the heavy rain and snow that showed up right after I left. (Darn!)  This one was on 101/1 before reaching the Shoreline Highway, I think.


Twisty Highway in the Forest




This picture is representative of the winding forest highway inland from the coast.  Note the absence of shoulders on the road.  Note the blur of scenery as I shot through the windshield.  Sigh.  I still like it, but it may never be sold.  Maybe I can find a show for folks with naturally blurry vision?

Remembering NoCal

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It took awhile for me to notice, but there is a thriving agrarian culture in the most unlikely place on earth. Yes, on the strip of highway running through the heavily forested mountains, I began to notice people walking along the side of the road carrying gardening tools and sometimes wearing a backpack.

I bet there is not more than a quarter acre of tillable land in the whole county, but these dedicated gardeners trudge to their remote little plots to tend their vegetables.

Once, I passed a tall, lanky man standing beside his pickup truck holding a hoe. (The garden tool.) He eyed me carefully as I passed and remained stock still until I reached the next curve – about 200 feet away. I had time to see him take one-step to cross the road in the uphill direction of the mountain. Most of the foot traffic responded in similar ways. If I did not know better, I would have sworn they were running a still.

Overall, I expect a vegetable garden of small to moderate size could easily feed a family. The soil seems fertile enough and water is plentiful. Sunlight might be an issue. The ambitious gardener would have to find a clearing or at least a thin spot in the canopy to have a chance to set fruit on a tomato vine, for example.

I kept my eyes open, but I never noticed the kind of roadside stands associated with this much gardening. You know, someone selling beets and artichokes from the back of their antique pickup truck. Odder still, these gardeners seemed to prefer Lexus sedans to trucks.

The next time I pass that way, I will stop and strike up a conversation with some of the farmers. They seemed shy at first, but I bet they are proud of their gardens and eager to show them off to an interested stranger. Maybe I can score, er uh, purchase some fresh veggies or herbs, wholesale.

California! What a wonderful country.

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Photos of Northern California

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In response to a flood of requests, I will publish more photos from The northern most point of my recent photo safari.  Have mercy.  It was rainy, cloudy and cold the whole time.  Since I left, I hear it's only gotten worse - or better - depending on your outlook.  You may click on the photos up to 2 times for larger images.

The conifer forest stood all around me.  I was surrounded by Ents, for all I knew.  I tried to appear respectful and unequipped with an axe.  Easy enough.  I felt a sense of awe looking up at these giants appearing out of the mist and I had no axe. [Whew]

The cabin at left seemed uninviting as well as unoccupied.  The posters on the gate posts proclaim "No Trespassing, Dag Nabbit!"

Okay, I paraphrased a little, but you get the idea.

The clouds hung low over the earth.  The mountains are considerable, meeting the mists half way between earth and sky.

It is impossible to determine the age of these places.  A few years of cool rain and heavy shade help moss establish a foothold on slow pedestrians.  I bet this place has seen 50 winters, at least.  I try to imagine how it might appear with warm light in the windows and snow falling outdoors. It must have been a happy place at least once.


Mountain Stream


The highway runs alongside the stream below.  You can follow the water, but you'll never catch it.  It has a 10,000 year head start.

It was past sundown when I arrived in Fortuna, CA.  The local motel, a Best Western, did a good job of providing me a hot shower and good bed for the night.  I also got to do laundry.  Finally, a little glamour in the trip!

Once I reached the Shoreline Highway, aka CA-1, aka "The Twisted Highway of Death"  I had an uninterrupted view of the vast pacific. The sky was gray as was the water. Winds were calm. A light mist or rain fell here and there.  It was a romantic setting, but not so easy for photographs, except maybe black and white...

The tree is probably 120 feet tall.  It has a great view of the sea and I found it therapeutic to simply stare at it for awhile.  It seems far too frail to withstand the storms that pass this way.  Yet, there it is, gracing the hillside like one of those elegant Japanese silk paintings.








I hope you enjoyed the pics.  I am sorry to be slow getting these out, but the holidays...  Well, you know.

Happy 2011!

Adsense Nonsense

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A few months ago, I joined the Google Adsense program. That is where I let Google sell advertising space on my blog page and they eventually send me a small portion of their take. They have many rules. You may not click on advertisements on your own site because that is cheating. You cannot pay or induce someone else to click on your site. There were more. Many more. As far as I know, I complied with all the requirements. Then, I got this:

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Hello,


After reviewing our records, we have determined that your Adsense account poses a risk of generating invalid activity. Because we have a responsibility to protect our AdWords advertisers from inflated costs due to invalid activity, we've found it necessary to disable your AdSense account. Your outstanding balance and Google's share of the revenue will both be fully refunded back to the affected advertisers.


Please understand that we need to take such steps to maintain the effectiveness of Google's advertising system, particularly the advertiser-publisher relationship. We understand the inconvenience that this may cause you, and we thank you in advance for your understanding and cooperation.

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Cooperation? They went on to say I could appeal their expert’s decision if I chose, but they could not tell me what they found suspicious because the formulas they use for detection are proprietary.

I found it difficult to defend myself from these unspecified accusations. I sent an appeal that must have sounded like “WTF” to the reader, if any. It did no good. In less than 24 hours, I had my reply. I was out of the Adsense program.

I know this will be disappointing news to the throngs who relied upon my blog site as a principal source of shopping information, but I can do nothing. Worse, the pile of money I earned publishing Google’s ads was half way to paying for a mid-range dinner for two. You know, any dinner not involving a drive-through window.

Not to worry. I never intended to become a giant internet retailer. I shall look for something pleasant and possibly entertaining to fill the empty space. 



Happy 2011, y’all.

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A Lone Star Christmas

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Each year around Christmas, I routinely receive offers from retailers of every kind. They each attempt to offer something so eye catching, so irresistible that you will be unable to restrain the urge to go to their store and shovel out money in exchange for some miraculous product or service. I routinely sail these offers into the round file and get on with my life.

I did, that is, until this one showed up. It is from an area auto dealer specializing in pickup trucks. Before I saw their flyer, I would have said, “I already have a good pickup truck and will not need another for the foreseeable future.”

Then, I looked at the coupon. I must admit, this man knows his market. The chance to win $25,000 is interesting, but we all know the chances are remote. Next, gift cards for some of the major retailers, Wal-Mart, Target, Bass Pro Shop, etc. could be very handy this time of year.

An almost irresistable advertisement?

Last but by no means least, the dealer offers a FREE SHOTGUN with the purchase of every new vehicle. Who could resist such a gesture on the very eve of Christmas? I admit I was seriously tempted. Fortunately, self-control got the better of me and I’ll have to use one to my several existing shotguns in my Yuletide celebrations. (?) I will probably enjoy a simple Christmas Eve, driving through the neighborhood, shooting mailboxes and reindeer in the traditional Christmas in Texas way.

What kind of rube do you suppose those truck salesmen take me for, anyway?


Wishing y’all a Happy and Prosperous 2011!

Putting Crisis Back Into Christmas

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It was not all that bad. It is just that I awoke on Christmas Eve morning with a fever. Always considerate and cautious in such matters, I soon found myself in the local urgent care facility. They weighed, poked, choked and listened to my various internal noises. I even got X-rayed!

“Pneumonia,” said the slip of a girl who was my doctor.

I admit, it sounded glum for Christmas morning with the grandchildren. I asked, “Am I contagious?”

“Oh Herr yes.” The doctor was oriental, too.

“B-but Christmas…” I pleaded.

“You can stir have Christmas, but do not hug any grandchirdren or share food or drink with anyone.”

With that, a sweet, innocent looking nurse with a bundle of syringes under her arm replaced the doctor.

“Unzip your pants, loosen them and lie down on your stomach.”

I complied, but I was uncomfortable. I hardly knew her.

What happened next was awful. That sweet little nurse stabbed a needle into my backside and turned on the pump. “Ding, ding, ding went the pump indicating gallons of anti biotic delivered. In a few minutes, she unstabbed me.

“Boy, I glad that’s over,” I exclaimed.

Stab! “Ding, ding, ding” replied the other pump.

By this time, I thought my legs at least doubled in size. The discomfort was, well, eye watering.

I got a sheaf of prescriptions and managed to walk out of the place feeling pneumonia was a trifle compared to my backside and legs.

“Owww!” I said with each step.

Christmas morning arrived on time and the children and grandchildren showed up bright and early. Everyone waded into the pile of gifts. Grandfather sat quietly in his chair, hoping not to attract undue notice. I felt much better, except for that bottom stabbing business, but remained weak – probably due to the aforementioned stab wounds. I still felt some bloat in the antibiotic department.

Soon all the gifts were opened. Children’s toys covered the floor and filled the air.

The ‘girls’ set two tables; one for those over age six and one for those under age 6. I sat at the old table and enjoyed baked ham and all the trimmings. The mashed potatoes and deviled eggs were among my favorites – at least they were until I met the pecan pie. It was wonderful.

Eventually everyone went to his or her own home and I stretched out on the sofa – tummy side down – to doze through “A Christmas Story” for the ninety-third time.

Today, I am a picture of health.

Overall, it was a wonderful Christmas.  I sincerely hope yours was as good.

Rockin Around the Christmas Tree

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Here is the original deal. I promised to retrieve the antique family Christmas tree from storage and assemble it. In addition, I would endure the annual agony of making all the tiny lights light. I believe it would be simpler to re-wire my cell phone, but that was not part of the bargain.

In return, my daughter would bring a few grandchildren over. Then, in a frenzy of holiday togetherness, we would decorate the tree. The plan had a few flaws from the beginning.

Flaw number one is the tree, itself. It is stored in a 6’ long cardboard sarcophagus when not in use. The box is decrepit and may have seen its last Christmas. The tree comes out of the box in sections. Each section has a basic string of lights permanently installed and ready to plug into the wall. It never works the first two or three attempts, but they do not mention that in the instructions.

I attacked the problem early on Saturday morning. The first pass, I got the sections out of order and the tree looked like a pagoda. I took it apart and began again. As I re-stacked the sections, I made careful note of the location of the electrical connections between each string.

Then, two hours later, I was ready to throw the switch. (Try to recall Clark Griswold and his Christmas lights in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.) I made all the connections and stabbed the cord into the outlet. Ta-Da! The top third of the tree blazed into life.

Okay, I must have missed something. I disassembled it and began again. Ta-Da!

Now, the top and middle lit, but the bottom remained dark.

On the third attempt and just before pitching the tree into the creek, all the lights lit. I had crawled around on the floor and stuck myself with potentially toxic fake pine needles for over four hours.

Then my daughter and the assembled Ant Hill Mob arrived. My daughter began artfully hanging ornaments, while the g’children were content with emptying the boxes containing the ornaments. They wanted to find the good ones.

Me? I collapsed in my chair, spent.

In time, one grandson discovered the Christmas tree box and, after glancing around furtively, slipped inside. He was in there for a few minutes before he called out “Hey, somebody find me!”

I fell for it. I tiptoed over to the box calling “Where’s William?” Small chuckles issued from the box.

“Well, I guess I better put up this old box before someone gets trapped inside,” I said loudly.

Then I picked up the box by the two top handles and began swinging it around and bouncing it off the various upholstered furniture. Squeals of delight and mock terror filled the room and the box. After a long time of flinging my heavy grandson about, I put it down, allowing him a chance to escape. Flushed with excitement, he said “That was great, Grandfather. Can we do it again?”

“Oh no,” I thought, “what have I done?”

“No, Grandfather, do me, do me,” echoed the chorus.

Sure enough, everyone wanted a nice long ride, just like his or her brother/cousin got.

I managed it, but it took a heavy toll. I have been on an Advil diet ever since.

You would think I would learn after five years of this how these things can get out of control. Apparently, I have some sort of mental or character defect preventing me from growing up and from engaging in self-preservation behavior.

Oh, what the heck. It IS Christmas, after all.

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