The Snowbirds Return

For Sandking

The spark of intelligence was obvious from a young age.

WORD

The hippo posted on April 23rd drew some encouragement to do more of the same. Some folks even suggested that they would buy an alphabet book. So, hell, with advanced sales of maybe three, I’m sure I can get a publisher right away. Rache thinks that I should use adult subject matter (no, not porn).
So here’s the deal. I need a word to illustrate. More specifically an “A” word. And “ass” is just too easy, so forget about “ass”. I’ll pick a word to draw and go from there. My choice will be completely arbitrary, the criteria used will be whatever I feel like at the moment, probably based on my inate ability to find the path of least resistance and whatever looks easiest to pull off. Thanks in advance for your participation.

As you can probably tell, I stumbled on a shoebox full of old photos in my basement.

That’s Rick Kane and me at one of the cabins my parents rented during the summers. This one was on one of the Crow Wing chain of lakes. We did crazy things in boats. And caught lots of fish. Rick and I were great pals through junior high when for some reason we drifted apart. I think I might have thought I was too cool for him, since he was a real straight arrow.
All Rick ever wanted to do in life was be an airline pilot. He ended up going to the Air Force Acadamy and getting a gig flying cargo planes. He was back in Colorado Springs with his wife and another couple for homecoming, flying a private plane. Cyd Mataala, my other pal who went to the Acadamy was at the airport when they took off to go home. Cyd watched as they flew into a mountainside and were all killed.
Cyd had been a hundred and forty pound all-state football player in high school. At the acadamy they redesigned their defense around him as a monster back. I’ve never seen anyone with such a nose for the ball. And pound for pound he was the hardest hitter I’ve ever seen. Utterly mild mannered when not on the football field, the nicest guy ever. He became an architect after his Air Force service, that’s what he always wanted to be. He found out early that he had the same congenital heart problem that killed his father at a young age. It got him a couple of years ago.
I suppose at my age I better get used to my pals dying. Better than the alternative though.

How many ADD artists does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Let’s go ride bikes.

My brother-in-law just moved back to town from Phoenix. He’s a Harley guy. He lives an amazingly minimalist lifestyle. He owns almost nothing. A few pieces of furniture, his truck, a bicycle and the requisite Harley Davidson. He’s almost fifty and except for the graying hair, looks like he’s thirty. No fifty year old should have such a flat stomach. I get along with him although we don’t have much in common. Other than being excentric. He’s a hermit and I guess you’d call him a redneck. Prefers to work night shifts, doesn’t show up for family functions, never really has a whole lot to say. But he’s a hard worker, honest and will help you out when you need him.
So we bought some new deck furniture, found a deal at the megastore’s outlet shop. We called him to help us bring it home with his truck. Got the job done and invited him to stay for dinner. I was kind of surprised that he accepted the offer, he usually begs off. So I went to the grocery store to get the fixin’s for my caper and sausage spaghetti. Everything went fine, a pleasant evening. I was thinking that in spite of the differences I’ve had with Beck’s family (right wing Christians for the most part) that the were all right and that they were a divers and interesting lot. She’s got seven siblings, so I guess no one could deny that last statement.
So here’s the problem. Last night Beck told me that while I was gone her brother was dropping the “n” word, talking about his coworkers in his new job. That and ridiculing our neighbors who have a sign promoting the repeal of Minnesota’s new conceal and carry law. I’d fogotten about that side of his personality. How red his neck really is. So just as I felt like I was growing fond of him, my level of esteem for him plummets like a rock.
I wonder what I would have done if he would have said those things in my presence. Would I have done the right thing, told him that that he was welcome to express his ideas about guns, but racism isn’t acceptable in my house. Would he have said anything in front of me? I’ve made my position known a long time ago. Before we were married we were at a family dinner when the gay bashing started. One of her sisters stated that homosexuality is a sin. I made an impassioned, but not very good argument that ended up making my future MIL cry in public. I’ve kind of lain low with my opinions ever since. I’m outgunned, that family has arguing down to a fine art.
I need to prepare myself. I need to be ready to calmly state to him that racist language isn’t acceptable around me. I have to realize I won’t change him and I can’t shut him out because he’s family. But I’m so disappointed. I thought he’d grown up a little. I’m sad.

Last weekend I went grocery shopping with L. She and I usually do the grocery shopping together. We can get it done in about half the time it takes if Beck goes along. She tends to spend a lot of time looking at every item on the shelf, I guess she’s curious about grocery products. Actually Lucia does most of the work, I pretty much just push the cart. I also spend some time looking for inspiration and I get the meat and produce needed for meals I have planned in the near future. But she’s the one that shops the aisles. She’s really quick at doing math in her head to figure out the best deal. There’s no doubt that she’s the most organized and efficient person in the family. Whose going to do the grocery shopping when she goes off to school? Who’s going to run the household?

I’m not so sure it’s a great idea to publish my adventures in therapy here. But since I already told y’all that I was going in for an ADD eval, I guess I owe you some words on the results. Before I made my appointment I spoke to a Psychiatrist on the phone who told me that they would probably do an MMPI before they did anything. The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory is a 400 some question true or false test that’s supposed diagnose a wide spectrum of personality disorders. I’ve taken it twice before, with mixed results. She then added that some people are so obviously ADD that they skip the test and refer you immediately to a psychiatrist. After talking to the psychologist for an hour he told me that there would be no need for the MMPI. He told me not to expect too much, that some people respond to the drug immediately, like a huge revelation, others get some benefit, not so dramatic and still others get no effect. He said that it was an experiment, I’d take some meds and if they worked, great. If not, go from there.

One interestig thing I found out was that they give Ritalin to fighter pilots. Actually, my tennis buddy who’s a shrink told me that, but I thought it was just to keep them hyped. What I found out yesterday is that it’s very common for fighter pilots to have ADD. The profession attracts adrenalin junkies and risk takers, which ADD people gravitate to, because the adrenalin gets there frontal lobes stimulated and they can focus and perform well under pressure. Competition stimulates the adrenal glands as well, that must be why I love hoops and tennis so much. I asked if the drugs would stifle my creativity. He assured me that they wouldn’t.

Sorry that I’ve not been keeping with my reading and commenting lately, I’ve been pretty busy. It’s not that I don’t love y’all. (I’m thinking that with a little effort, I could have made that sentence into a triple negative)

Peace.

I could be found in that position almost every evening, usually with the TV on, from the time I was about five until I went away to college. My dad started bringing pencils and typing paper tablets home from the office so that I wouldn’t draw in the margins of books. I still have some of my very first drawings in an old book. They were of airplanes, dropping bombs.
You see what I was doing was illustrating the constant stories I told myself in my head. Sometimes I narrated the stories out loud. I was really good at sound effects. That’s how I entertained myself, that’s what you do when your brother and sister are already grown up and married. And you suck at sports. And you’re the wierd kid who says stuff in class that everyone makes fun of. Like in third or fourth grade when you proclaim that you’re writing a novel based on the life of Henry Sibley, Minnesota’s first governor. Or announce that you want to be an ornitholigist when you grow up. Or you pee in your pants in class or the girls beat you up on the way home from school because you’re always trying to kiss them. God I was a wierd kid.

Yesterday as I was leaving the Mountain’s house after retrieving my keys (thank god I left them there and not at the bar) I saw a pair of hawks surfing thermals in what must have been some fantastic arial foreplay. When I first saw them they were coming toward me single file in a high speed glide about a hundred yards apart. They found a thermal and started spiraling up on it now only a few feet separating them. Occasionally they would wheel and take swipes at each other and tumble through the air in a face to face stall, then with a single wing beat grab the updraft and resume the gracefull spiral. The third time they broke their glide to play, they went into a dive and picked up another updraft about a quarter of a mile away and started all over again. It looked to me like they were having a great time. It had to be foreplay.

I just finished the Franklin biography. Listening to it that is. If you’re bothered by doubts about the value of your contribution to society avoid this. Ben ran away at seventeen, made his fortune as a printer and publisher, retired at forty one to dabble in the sciences and went on to play a pivotal role in our independence and the forming of the republic. He invented the lightning rod and bifocals as well as a myriad other inventions, none of whch he patented, because he felt it was his duty to improve society. He pretty much created the US Postal Service as well. I was kind of disappointed to learn that all that stuff about his sexual exploits isn’t true. Or at least there was no hard evidence of it.

You may remember me lamenting not having my camera when we saw the turfmobile. Well:

The old farts went rockin’ and rollin’ last night. Yup, we went out for dinner with two other couples and hit a local bar where Mick Sterling and the Stud Brothers were playing. A great R&B outfit with horns and a terrific rythem section. Mick sounds like the guy from Blood Sweat and Tears. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten out on the dance floor, but I can still do a mean funky chicken. They were way too loud though….now Beck and I are going to be evern more deaf. Eh? What’s that?

Somewhere in the course of the night I lost my car keys. Fortunately Beck had hers. Last week I locked the keys in the car. I left my jacket at tennis on Thursday, with my camera in the pocket. Tomorrow I go in for an ADD evaluation. How do you think I’ll do?

At this very moment a bluebird is checking out my bluebird house! It’s never been occupied. He actually went in. Could it be? I’m so excited. Usually they check it out, turn up their beaks at the run down property and leave.

I also saw a goldfinch this morning.

thenarrator’s account of a trip to a dysfunctional dairy farm and barefoot_czarina’s touching account of faded friendship brought this story to mind.

In the early seventies my girlfriend was a Southwestern Minnesota farm girl. She had been a University of Minnesota student and we’d met at a camp for inner city youth. She was a counsellor and I was in charge of “Arts and Crafts.” Her ancestory was German and Belgian, but her complexion was such that in the summer she was often mistaken for African. Except for her Delph blue eyes. She had beautiful hair, thick black, wavy hair. I’m not going to get into our relationship, it was painful. We drove each other insane. In so many different ways.

She had three sisters and a brother. Her mother had died giving birth to her brother and then an early childhood disease left him deaf. D, the third daughter was, I think the designated farm hand. She had amazing strength. It was interesting dating a woman who could kick my ass.

Her father did a reasonable job of holding things together at his little dairy farm out on the plains. But, I think he must have had ADD.

Once I was visiting during one of those crucial times, planting or harvest, when farmers are in the field constantly, working like maniacs to beat the weather. Early one the afternoon he came tearing back from the field with one of his tractor tires spraying liquid. Those huge tractor tires are filled with liquid not air. I can’t remember if it’s water or what. He’d sprung a leak and it had to be fixed as soon as possible, because there was no time. The tractor tire repair guy, who was probably on call 24-7 during the season was out almost immediately and they set to work fixing the problem. I stood by, a helpless city slicker, watching curiously. Her dad, Joe, was getting frantic. At some point the tire guy said, “Joe, can you get something to put under this Jack to shim it up?”

Joe starts out across the yard to a shed. He never got there. Instead, half way across the yard, he noticed that there was an uneven spot. He stopped, got on his other, smaller tractor and started dragging the ground to level it off. He never returned with the shim. I just stood there. I’m sure my mouth was hanging open.

Maybe I missread the situation. Maybe the tire guy was just trying to get rid of this agitated, hot tempered lunatic and Joe knew it. Maybe D took him aside and said, “Daddy, go do something and let the tire guy work in peace.” I don’t know. But at the time it looked like a case of raging distractability to me.

ToOldForThis, as she so often does, inspired me to do a random photo blog. And her Sammy’s monkey painting inspired me to dig this out of the archives.

I did the drawing with one of those whippy ball point pens and then colored it with marker colored pencil and gouache. The intention was to do the alphabet, but I’m an ENTP so I lost interest after Hippo and Monkey.

lionne has a picture of herself in ’71, that’s me in ’70. I’m the one with the moustache.

That’s me on a fishing trip in Colorado. The town is Hotchkiss. Mountain Man refers to it as Crotchkiss. That’s his sister’s house. Does it look like I’m having a good time?

Finally, some of my tennis buds. Folks from drills last night. The guy in the back is the pro, he’s a great teacher, I think I’m going to have him work with Q. The other three and I hung out after drills and played a set, boys against girls. We won but it wasn’t easy. The woman with the cap and the bearded guy are a couple and I think maybe the pro and the dark haired woman are as well. Just getting to know them.

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I was going to say that I have a soft spot in my heart for dry salami and really stinky cheese, but I suppose I should say that I have a hard spot in my heart.

I played old school no sissy tie breaker tennis last night. My partner and I won 11-9. Grueling. I’m going to be in severe pain today.

The T-wolves kicked some nugget ass last night. I watched on the Mountain Man’s big screen HDTV. He makes real popcorn on the stove with real butter. MMMMMMM.

Q leaves for Chicago and Wisconsin Dells tomorrow, they’re taking their musical on the road. My daughter’s a chorus girl.

I need to start figuring out the mystery of college loans. Or saying to L, here you go, you figure it out.

Peace, ass nuggets.