Chasing Rainbows

I  had one of those days yesterday. You know the kind. Everything just seemed to get worse as the day went on.
It started when I got up and found the cable and Internet was shut off. It's happened enough times that I know it's not the end of the world. Just the start to a boring day. Then the clothes dyer quit. It spins but doesn't heat. Believe it or not every sock of mine was in that wet load of clothes. And my bed sheet. The only one. I put the sheet and pillow case on a rocker to dry.

Then I noticed the cat was limping. I checked him out and found a couple of puncture wounds on his neck and leg. Animal bites are nasty with infection. He's on the last month of his 6 month quarantine from the last infection. And he had been confined before that, in January and on the last month he developed an infection. So technically he's been under quarantine all year. If I brought him to the vet there would be a $500 fine for breaking quarantine and possibly having to put him to sleep. Not because he's sick. Just because the law says so.
I knew I still had some amoxycillin drops left over from the last time. It's a cinch I thought, 10 days of drops, 3 times a day and he'll be tip top again. Unfortunately the drops, even though refrigerated turned discolored. If I had an Internet connection I could find out whether or not they were still usable.

Since I had nothing to entertain me I decided to watch a DVD and picked Avatar. I had already watched it about 3 months ago and wasn't impressed. The animation is fabulous, the backgrounds amazing but I had problems with the story. I enjoyed it more this time and probably will watch it again.

About that time I decided it was time to get some Seagram's. As I headed up Dogwood street I saw the sky was unusually angry looking and it was beginning to rain. Looking west there were those puffy white clouds I call anvils. They seem to rise and then spread out horizontally and flat on top. To me these signal a major weather event. Under the anvils there were horizontally streaked clouds with the sun reaching past them. It was like a spectacular sunset hours before the sun was ready to set. I was transfixed on this scene until I reached Hoppy's Landing and noticed a rainbow in the north.

I imagine the fact that the sky was so ominous to me had to do with the fact that I had spent the  last two hours watching a fantasy planet being destroyed by humongous Mechs and Scorpions.

Coming out of the dark clouds the bands of the rainbow seemed to point directly to a sunny spot in Mattapoisett between Brandt Island and Gellete road. It was spectacular. Looking east I found the other end of the rainbow coming out of the overhead clouds and reaching out to Falmouth.

The beautiful sun drenched rainbow's end in Mattapoisett seemed to call to me and I headed up the Neck for Route 6 east. It was a good decision because the sun streaming through the streaked clouds was so intense drivers going towards Fairhaven could barely see due to sun glare. I moseyed on down toward Ned's Light and kept the rainbow in my sights. The big rain clouds from Dogwood street were following me. A rain cloud over my head wherever I went seemed appropriate considering the day I was having.

For some reason I turned away from Ned's Light before I reached the last road there and headed towards Marion. Now both ends of the rainbow were visible and I saw the entire arc. I don't think I have ever seen such a perfect rainbow and I am certain I have never seen on that lasted so long.

Marion was very dark now that I brought my rain cloud into town and I was having trouble seeing with my smoked aviators on. I started thinking of having to euthanize my cat. I really couldn't conceive that and got a little choked up and to had to put it out of my mind.

I ambled down Converse road following the arc of light. I wondered if rainbows were the 'rays of light from the heavens' that so many ancient stories talk about that deliver a miracle to the Earth's people. The radio played Edgar Winter's Frankenstein. Next, I howled to Werewolves of London. When The Monster Mash came on I suddenly realized I haven't seen any Halloween decorations in Marion.  Every house and lawn looked perfect. Like in the Stepford Wives. Hmmm, would that make the wives in this town 'Marionettes'? I got a bit of a chuckle out of that and headed back to Route I-195 and by now the clouds over Bristol County had parted and switched into a normal sunset routine.

So what's the punchline. I really don't know. I got home, gave the cat the discolored amoxicillin and ate pumpkin donuts from Market Basket. I put the dried sheet on my bed and we both took a nap and waited for another day.

The Midlife Chrysler and TV Babes

Well, I thought mid life crisis cars were always red. I really don't feel like I'm having a midlife crisis. Actually I have had so many crisis, from near death experiences, getting hit  by lightening and PTSS (Post Tramatic Stress Syndrome) I guess this one is minor.

But I LOVE my Chrsler Sebring Convertible. I've gotten so many compliments at drive thru windows, Walgreens, Burger King and Dunkin Donuts. As well as people on the street. My cowboy hat and dashboard Hula-girl just complement the deal.

Wait until I get my vanity plate, CBRING, it'll seal the deal.

As for TV babes I don'yt know what it is but they're so damn alluring. Take for instance Annie Little. Never heard of her? I'll bet you've seen her. On the Amazon Kindle commercials. She sings "Take me away, my love." The song on the commercial, you know the one where they use stop motion, and dress her as an aviator among other costumes. She's hot! Mybe it's because they never give you enough of her. What I mean is they leave wanting to see more of her.

Well I guess that's not so for "Flo" the Progressive commercial woman. She's so damned cut and her voice is so sweet. And you can tell she has a great sense of humor. How about Alexandra Steele on the Weather Channel. Weather babe to the max! She even has a name like a porn star. I sensed a  lot of competition between her and Heather Tesh. They have since separated the two.
Megan Kelly on FOX News channel. Major Babe! Most of the woman on that channel have the best legs and give you a glimpse or two.

Maybe it's that inside I know they're unobtainable. I seem to want the unreachable more than what's right in front of me.
Well, maybe someday I can find a hot weather babe who can forecast the great days for us to go for a ride to get clam cakes. Until then I'll keep watching the Weather Channel and Fox news.

Clam Cake Nirvana: Update

This clam cake research is harder than I thought. After about 6 samplings I realized that it's nearly impossible to declare one clam cake the best of all rest. Each clam cake recipe has is unique and has points all it's own. Evelyn's Nanaquaket Pond Drive Inwas given a second chance and I found it to be better the second time around. For $4 I got 4 cakes and a bowl of chowder. It was a thin chowder, the Rhode Island type. Not New England, the creamy type nor the sacrilegious red New York chowder. OK, some NY chowders are good but I like the other 2 types better.

Evelyn's $4 combo is great. I added a quahog and found it to be one of the best Quags I have ever had, really!
Flo's Drive In in nearby Portsmouth, RI  has clam cakes with a style all their own. More fluffy and less clams but still very good.
The Country Whip in Acushnet has a tasty clam cake too. I ordered a quahog there and was surprised to get it in a round plastic container like Chinese take out sauces come in. Not bad either.
The Cool Cone in Wareham, MA has a good recipe too along with their quahog, even though they weren't tops on the list they are worth a visit.
Gene's Seafood in Fairhaven has a style more like Flo's and are good if they haven't been sitting under the heat lamp.
The Seafood Hut in Acushnet is near the top and is the closest to home.
Down the Hatch's clam cakes are good but a bit pricey at double the average cost.
Hugo's in Freetown, MA was the top in the early stages of this sampling and I may have to go back and re-evaluate the cakes ;)
Well I think that's all my reviews. Sorry it isn't more detailed with prices and menu lists. But the point of this have proven that clam cakes are a great road food and most of the places I sampled were worth the drive, if not just for the scenery.  If you have a favorite place that I have missed give me a shout!

In Search of Clamcake Nirvava

I had an idea some time ago to find the best clam cakes in the area and keep a log of the bivalve biopsies.

In an instance of utter spontaneity I decided to start with 'The Sea Food Hut'. Located at 2 South Main street they are located right on the Fairhaven/Acushnet town line. This is the typical New England snack shack defined. You order from outside the window of the small building. The parking lot is best described as 'small'. About 6 parking spaces small but don't let theat deter you. The Sea Food Hut offers all manner of fries delicacies, clam cakes, fries, onion rings, fried clams, scallops and fish to name just a smidgen. I have had their fish and chips in the past which were lightly battered, not quite like the traditional English fish and chips which have a heavy batter. This day though I was on the hunt for clam cakes. More commonly known in other parts of the country as fritters clam cakes deserve to be in a class of there own.

I ordered only a half dozen, since I have tried to lose weight this year and have lost about 15 pounds over a little more than 2 months. This is a tough job, but somebody has to do  it. These were cooked to order and of course there's a short wait until your number is called. I had a seat at one of the 2 picnic tables there and watch the traffic flow through the intersection of Main street and Alden road. When my order came up I helped myself to a couple of squirts from the bottle of vinegar on the counter and decide to head out Main street into the Acushnet back country since it was a beautiful top down day.

Their clam cakes were GOOD. Really good. Nicely cooked to a golden color and not greasy. I don't remember any pieces of clam in them but I didn't mind at all. In a short time, just a few miles, all 6 clam cakes were GONE. Clam cakes aren't like fries or onion rings, when the box is empty there aren't any that fell to the bottom of the bag. I still craved more cakes.

I kept driving through Acushnet into Rochester and then to Freetown when I suddenly remembered another tiny clam shack on (50) Middleboro road in that town. Hugo's is about the same size as Seafood Hut, maybe smaller. A dirt lot offers plenty of parking and has either a tiny grandstand or a seasonal plant display stand. I think it's for sports teams to pose for pictures while having ice cream. Neat idea. I ordered another half dozen cakes and sat and read their sizeable menu. In a couple of minutes the guy inside cooking told me he made a mistake and dropped a dozen in the fryer by mistake. Would I like the whole 12? Hell ya'! When they were done I offered him the extra $2 for the large order but he declined, so I left it in the tip cup.

I headed South on Middleboro road towards Sassaquin pond in the far north end of New Bedford. I took a look at my first cake from this batch and was surprised. The were a little darker then the previous batch from the Seafood Hut. Little bumps and ends were nicely browned and they reminded me of the Holy Grail of clam cakes. Mc Cray's. Though long gone several restaurants have offered 'Mc Cray's' style clam cakes and fried clams. I took a bite and indeed, they were about the closest to Mc Cray's cakes I have had. Even better than the former Mc Cray's II in Tiverton, RI. The middles were a little doughy, but that was fine with me. And clams! Each one had real clams. Real clams have real clam necks, so be forewarned, some bites can be chewy. These were a little saltier than the Acushnet batch but not overly so. My intention was to eat 6 cakes and bring the remaining 6 home. But they were so good I ate all 12. Yep, that was on top of the first 6, so I ate 18 clam cakes that day. I swear that Hugo's were so good I had no choice.

Today I found myself craving something fried and decided to try Evelyns Drive In in Little Compton, RI. Set on the Sakonnet river, not far from the Old Stone Bridge there is large dirt parking lot, plenty of picnic tables and an indoor dining room. A nice spot to sit awhile.  I got my order quickly. So I assume they cook batches at a time and sit under the warmer, or I just had good timing. These were nice light inside and a little chewy, in a soft way. A very nice chewy. I didn't find any clams in them but these were not greasy and very good. The 6 were gone in a few minutes as I  headed south on Main road, Route 77, an excellent scenic drive.

So...this is the tally, Hugo's is definitely number 1, The Seafood Hut is a close second and Evelyn's is a tight third. Even though I haven't tried Gen's Seafood's clam cakes in quite awhile I giving them a distant 4th. Some day I'll try one just to confirm my rating.
Flo's (Closed Hurricanes) on the beach in Portsmouth, RI will be tried next. They are a different class, more cakey.
So there you have it, the Great Clam Cake Search. If you have any suggestions drop me a line.

Summer Re-run Time

Well it's that time of year again. If you live on the Island you know what I'm talking about. Fog. And with the June fog comes, gasp!

The Lady In White!

If you have never heard the legend, read on.

As far as ghost stories about West Island go, this one is the oldest I know of, going back to the early 1970's.


The story is known as " The Woman in White" or "The Lady in White." I know of several people who were there the night she emerged from the waters at the West Island Town Beach.

She first appeared in the 1960's and usually appears around the beginning of June, mostly on foggy nights.

The largest group to witness her was in 1971 or 1972 when she appeared during a Fairhaven High Class party on the east side beach known as Crescent Beach. She walked down Crescent Beach from Monastery Rock, barely noticed at first. When she reached the small dirt road connecting the parking lot and and the beach some of the group began to see her, not giving much thought to her presence. What gave them concern was the fact that those who saw the sight said that she was visible if you didn't look directly at her, and if you turned towards her she vanished. As you turned away she would reappear, continuing on her pilgrimage.

Wearing all white, she was dressed in a flowing sort of robe. Supposedly she drowned, or WAS drowned at Crescent beach and would leave the scene of her demise (the sea), perhaps in search of her lover who committed the foul act. The appearances occur sometime in the first few days of June, right around sunset on a foggy night.

There is also the supposed Marsh Men who appear farther down towards Bass Creek in the marsh between Monastery Woods and the woods on the West side of the marsh. They travel back and forth between the two woods toiling away the night. It has never been known why they carry out their tasks or what they were carrying, if anything, and which way they were moving their goods, east to west or west to east, as no one was ever successful in sneaking up close enough. They can be seen on any random night in the summer as dimly glowing silhouettes when the fog rising up through the marsh grass cloaks their endless drudging, back and forth and if you get close enough, you can hear their feet sloshing through the mud.

http://home.comcast.net/~nokatay/westisland/Ghost_Stories.htm

Blue Suede Signs

I guess this is sort of a rant. If you live in the town of Fairhaven you probably have noticed the new blue street signs. I'm color blind but I KNOW these signs are blue! Vivid blue I guess. Now I'm not complaining about the color, I think it's very visible. The thing that has my nuts torqued is WHY.

Maybe I'm missing something but the most important issues in town have been the budget and whether or not the middle school should mandate uniforms. The uniform issue seems to have the town divided. I've seen a mini van parked at Wood School with a big placard in the windshield declaring "no" on the issue. Personally I think it's a good idea.

"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. Blocking out the scenery and breaking my mind. Do this, don't do that. Can't you read the signs?", Five Man Electric Band.

Actually I love signs. I developed an appreciation for them when I worked at Poyant's Sign, as a color blind sign painter, mind you. My problem is, why replace nearly every street sign in town when the money could have been spent more wisely elsewhere? I know the fabrication of these signs and the installation of them, some with new poles, isn't cheap. Was this some sort of Homeland Security grant? I suppose it would help terrorists find their way, so that doesn't make sense to me.I could understand replacing missing or damaged street signs with new ones, but if the new ones were blue and the old ones are green it would be kinda' ugly.

My other concern is that they have been installed too low. They can be reached by a reasonably tall person or a couple of drunken teens with one on the shoulder of the other. I know the latter method works for pilfering traffic signs from experience. I still have a vintage 25 MPH speed limit sign, the old kind with highly embossed raised letters. I once scored a 6 foot high, orange 'Construction Ahead' sign from the causeway when it was rebuilt about 1977. Keep in mind I was about 4'9" at the time, lugging it home and up to my room was almost as hard as trying to explain to my mother as to how I came about to posess such an item.

I predict that the sign announcing the beginning of Goulart Memorial drive and the accompanying 'West Island' sign will disappear before the Fall, if not by September. And no, I will not have any part of it's demise. They have been historically stolen as mementos of a Summer vacation here or by college students renting a house here. I do believe that at one time, many years ago the West Island sign had been removed by residents wishing to keep the Island a secret. "Sssshhhhh!"

Well that's my take on the new true blue signs. Maybe I'll find out if the town is selling the old green ones. I  would like a 'Dogwood st' or a 'Nakata ave' sign. Buying one should be easier than trying to steal one.

Bringing The Sebring To The Seaside

After a frustrating search I have found a car to love! A 1998 Chrysler Sebring convertible, white with tan leather seats, power drivers side of course, and tan top. The stereo is a factory installed Infinity am/fm/cassette/cd player, amplifier and 6 speakers. It cranks. Great for top down highway cruising. What wind noise? I like the outside temp indicator with digital compass and trip computer displaying instant and average miles per gallon fuel consumption.

Originally I set a budget of $1500 and soon realised it was much too low. So I upped it to 2 grand. It was still kind of iffy to the vehicles available for the money. Most needed small things, like an transmission or engine. Then I happened on a green Sebring convertible in Plymouth, MA. If  the seller is in America's home time town must be trustworthy, right? Wrong. After showing up at the dealer to view the vehicle shown on his website I was informed that it was "being detailed". Ok, I can wait the 3 days. This time I called and was told the car would be back in 2 days. The next call I was told in a day and half. I decided to wait 2 days and when I called I was told it came in Friday night and was sold Saturday morning. So much for promises to call.

I then viewed a white Sebring in Randolph and went to see a white one Braintree, MA. The car in Braintree had been moved to Whitman I was told after being assured over the phone it was "there all day". I found the car in Whitman and I was as disappointed as I was in the one Randolph. I came home and the next day found a new listing for a white one in Warwick, RI. Emails were exchanged and finally I had found a man of his word. The deal was made and I got the car. Yay!

I have been driving through the back roads of Westport and Dartmouth, Swansea and Dighton, Marion and Buzzards Bay. Along the way I have been discovering road side art. I find them amazing pieces of Americana. For nearly 20 years I have had an idea for a magazine dedicated to the enjoyment of driving. I'd hoped to appeal to drivers of cars, motorcycles and trucks. Articles of a particular route traveled, say Routes 6 and 6A along Cape Cod were my target. Descriptions of sights along the way, areas to avoid and maybe a restaurant review too. I had an idea of a running topic of say, the best Hot Dogs or Quahogs found along the way. Originally I imagined a monthly distributed in a format such as the Neighborhood News. With the advancements in the web a webzine now makes more sense. My title for the publication was Mass Touring.

Now that I have a great vehicle for the 'research' and a new enough computer to make it a reality I just might. The Sebring fits the bill perfectly. 

She's a beauty. Only needs a swaying Hula Girl on the dash. I'd like to keep 'Ronald', the red Jeep and make it road worthy in time. But today the sun is shining and I hear the road calling. I don't have a destination but that doesn't matter when the top is down.

You Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog/Jailhouse Rock

Let's see, how long is the statute of limitations good for? Well anyways, one of my favorite stories of adventure and bad decisions takes place in the summer of '77. I was 16 years old. I had spent a couple of weeks in Illinois at my sisters Carol’s house. My niece Sherry, who was also 16 drove a cranberry 1969 Mach 1 with a 390 cubic inch motor. The roads out there were pretty flat and straight compared to New England and we spent a few nights running that Mustang pretty hard down those roads along the corn fields.

When I got back home it was the same old dull summer days stuck without a car and it seemed there wasn't much to do here. I needed a new Carter Thermo Quad carb for my 1972 Dodge Challenger and lacked the cash to get it so I was pretty much Island bound. One night we all got some beers and I had a 6 pack of 16 oz Haffenraffer malt liquor. Everyone else had gone home around 11 o'clock and I was sitting there by myself on top of one of the boulders that were behind home base at the old ball field. Somewhere in the middle of the 5th beer I decided I was going back to Illinois, right then! Since my car was down I took my Dad's '63 Impala 4 door with the 6 cylinder. I left a note at my friend Stacey's house, it was cryptically written in crayon on a piece of a brown paper bag, that's all I could find in the Chevy. The note said that I was going to Illinois by myself Long with the note was 3 cigarettes. Her mother found the note in the morning and gave it to her.

So I was off with my dog Presley, no he wasn't a hound dog, part German Shepard and pit bull but he didn’t look like either. The gas tank was low so I filled it up at a station at the highway on ramp and since I spend my last bucks on the beer I drove off without paying. I only made it about 15 miles down the highway when some state troopers spooked me and thinking they were after me for stealing gas I started for the back roads. Only about 1200 miles to go! Well I soon got lost with it being dark, not knowing the area and me being drunk. I was going down a road when a stop sign appeared and I stopped kind of late and slid a little on some sand at the intersection. There happened to be a local police car going by and he yelled something simple to me.

Keep in mind this was shortly after me seeing Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry and Vanishing Point! Well that was all I needed and off I went! Where I was going wasn't clear but I wound that ole Chevy up and found out it only did 65 mph! What the hell? Damn that old boat didn't turn like my Dodge either. Talk about under steer and body roll! Presley could have told you about that as he was being thrown all around the car's interior. I soon realized through the malt liquor haze that there was no way I was going to out run these guys so I made some turns and suddenly ended up on a dead end road that was literally boxed in with chain link fence.

Nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
Got nowhere to run to, baby
Nowhere to hide
by Martha and the Vandellas wasn’t playing on that old AM radio, but it should have been. I didn't try to run, I was feeling pretty stupid about then, or maybe it was fear. Fear mainly what my Dad was gonna do when he got ahold of me.

The cops got me out and made me lay on the trunk of the car while they searched me for weapons like a machine gun or a bazooka. They were also trying to figure what the hell I was trying to get away from. When I started spouting off how I would of got away if I had my Challenger and all they would of seen were taillights because the top end on that car...
Ow!!! Suddenly I found out those big black flashlights could shed light in more ways than one. Yes, I did see the light now. They were twinkling all over inside my head. The lump forming on the back of my noggin must have held a rear projection tv that was showing the opening credits from Star Wars because I could see alot of stars. As Ron "Tater Salad" White from Blue Collar Comedy say, "I had the right to remain silent, but I didn't have the means."

So away we all went to the Swansea police station for the night. One of the eagle-eyed cops noticed my leather belt had pot leaves tooled into it and it it didn't take long before he noticed my belt buckle was made from a pot pipe. In the morning I was arraigned and released to my parents, minus my belt buckle. Judge Stack, who was presiding over the bench in Taunton District court happened to live at the end of Cottonwood street. The one and same judge who’s front yard I had previously ripped up with my dirt bike one day. Talk about stupidity AND bad luck!

We were about half way home riding in thick silence and I blurted out "What about Presley?" My Mom asked "What do you mean?" I explained he was with me when I got arrested and he got arrested too, I guess, because when they took me to court in the morning he was in the next cell sitting on a bed of straw and looking pretty much ashamed for both of us. Well that ended the silence, let me tell you. They brought me home with STRICT instructions not to leave my room while they went to bail out Presley.

My bed was feeling pretty good at that time anyways, what with the hangover and the "life's lesson" throbbing on the back of my head. I managed to get out of the house a couple of days later, but had to be home by dark though! Quite a deal I thought from the original grounded for life. I got to tell the story to Stacey and my friends. Since I was about the only one with a dirt bike on the island I already had a reputation as being a little south of sane. Think about it, blood red Challenger, Hodaka Wombat (that's a 125 cc dirt bike, they had the stainless steel tanks), not the guy parents wanted their daughter hanging out with. Since I wasn’t allowed to leave the yard for a couple of days my friends thought I had made it to Illinois.

Myself, Presley and Luke Skywalker were talked about quite a bit among the kids that summer. The dog had a rep now, too. I don't know how my parents didn't make me sell the Challenger after pulling that stunt. I had to go to a defensive driver class for a few weeks and got the whole record sealed. My niece thought the whole thing was pretty funny and Stacey's Mom always looked at me real funny after.

This is a true story and I've told it many times over the years. There's a version where I did donuts around the police station flagpole to initiate the chase, but that never really happened. I think that version came after 5 more Haffenraffers one night.

Presley died in 1988 after becoming very well known and liked in the neighborhood and sharing many adventures with me. Another judge eventually opened my sealed court record, but that's another story for another day.

Peace.

Froggy Went A Courtin, He Did Ride, Uhuh.

A couple of weekends ago Sid and Stacy called and asked me if I would like to go for a walk. Unfortunately my prescription for the anti-inflammatory Celebrex can no longer be filled unless I pay for it myself. So I declined. I'm sure that I will pay for it when my pain level reaches the $170 per month mark. When that happens only time will tell.

The walk destination was a location on the north end of Fir street known to me as 'The Paintball Field.' The name was introduced to me by my nephew Justin when he and his friends cleared some brush and dragged in some pallets and barrels as well as constructing some small huts to shoot from. I had called the area 'The Indian Ground' for reasons I can not prove but believed Wampanoags camped there.

Mackenzie, Sid and Stacy's youngest daughter, and one of her friends has been trying to resurrect some of the bunkers there and her parents wanted to see how it was progressing. I decided I could drive to the end of Fir street and walk down the short path with no problems. When I arrived Sid and Stacy led me to a small pond where frogs were croaking. This may not seem exciting to people who live near a lake or pond but I found it great, and I think Sid and Stacy did too. As w e approached the water it was pretty quiet, but once you stand still the frogs start croaking their mating songs. The sound rose to an amazing level that made me smile. I don't know why, but it was cool. I have never seen frogs on the island and I suspect that what we heard was actually toads but it's still nice to know that things are beginning to grow and thrive after the Winter.

I couldn't help being reminded of a spot that my family would stop for a picnic lunch in Connecticut named Frog Rock. Somewhere we have picture of me and my sister with my Dad dressed in Easter clothes standing in front of Frog Rock. Gotta dig that one out someday.

If you get a chance I suggest taking Sid and Stacy's walk. Head to the north end of Fir street to Cherrystone road and a few feet from there on the east side of the street you'll see a lightly worn trail. For some reson the path arcs to the left and you will probably see some uneven ground, just head toward the rocks and listen. I know of another curiosity on the Island for you. I call it the Three Sided Pen. It's down Bass Creek Path which is very wet. I brought an archaeologist down there to see what he thought. I thought it may have been a cemetery. There are carefully constructed stone walls more than 3 feet high. Small features indicate whoever built it knew there stuff. There are flat stones in many places placed on the top of the walls as cap stones. Along the bottom you can find small stones used to leave gaps in the wall, as if to add height with using less material. On the south side of the pen there is no wall. The ground is amazingly stone free. Leading me to believe it was for gardening or farming. Three large stones, about as big as watermelons are perfectly aligned in a north-south manner. I thought these were grave markers. Sticking a trowel in the ground near them revealed a very big boulder just under the surface of the soil. Apparently the rocks were markers so that anyone tilling the soil would avoid the unseen boulder. Another curiosity of the site is that it has the only old stone walls constructed on the island that run perfectly north-south and east-west.

If you wish to try to find the Three Sided Pen head down Bass Creek Path at the corner of Fir st and Mist Bay road (formerly Cove rd). After about 5 minutes of walking you will arrive at a more open area. As you reach there stop and look for 3 scrawny pines on the south side of the path. Just after them you may see a barely discernable deer run. Follow that south for about 2 minutes and the walls will appear in front of you almost magically. Now if you think that these directions are vague, my nephew Justin gave them to me and I found it. I gave them to Karl Pederson and he found it. When I went down there with the archaeologist he pointed out to me that we passed the three scrawny pines. So its not as vague as you might believe. Try and let me know how you fare.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Hey, it's raining. Alot. Cats and dogs. It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring. And no, it's not raining men, thank God.

Our back yard is a pool. It has rained so much our 60 gallon fish pond has floated away. Really. I had pumped out the pond to clean out the leaves and these creepy little worms that thrive in there. They look like a drowned worm, but THEY ARE ALIVE! When the heavy rains came the water infiltrated between the pond's plastic liner and the soil. Displacement. Instant bouyancy. It's still in it's place, it's justn floating above the ground level and listing to starboard.

There rainwater flows from the backyard to the back of the house, channels itself to the north and finds the driveway. Along the section before the drive is a fine sediment. Clay I think. During the foundry builds I dropped quite a bit of the clay and sand mixture. Raindrops pummel the sand as the clay floats away and catches on any impedimets along it's path. The reddish mud looks out of place.

The driveway collects into a makeshift pond at the edge of the street where the road grader has left a ridge. I go out and use the heel of my boot to open up a tiny canal, but the sticks that have fallen during the winter storms create minature beaver dams that bind up the whole works.

I remember as a kid I loved this kind of weather. We played in the mud and water working the rivulets like a 10 year old civil engineer. Creating dams from toothpick sized sticks and pebbles we would watch as the water pressure eventually broke through our construction projects. The idea was to make it last long, but not too long.

I have heard diesel engines straining somewhere on Fir street. Today, since I was already wet anyways, I walked into a backyard on Ebony street and saw the source of the commotion. A tractor trailer pumper was at the sewerage treatment plant and apparently pumping. I have heard this off and on for over a month. When I saw Beth Davis, the publisher of the Neighborhood News, she said it was "just maintainance." I'm sceptical. Warren Zevon said it all with, "Dad, send lawyers, guns and money. The shit has hit the fan."

They Said Come Dancing...My Sister Always Did.

I was driving (on the Neck) when a song by the 'Kinks' came on the radio. 'Come Dancing' was a hit for them in 1983. As I was listening to the lyrics I was reminded of West Island. I'm sure some people would think that i can make a relation between any subject and West Island, but I think this one hit the mark.



Back in the 1960's I remember the Community House at the top of the Hill on Causeway road looking a little different that it does today. First of all there was a telephone booth at the front of the building. Younger readers may have heard of, but never seen one. They were glass and aluminum and just large enough to take temporary in refuge during a rain storm. Of course there were times when we tried to fit as many people as we could in one.

The entry was different then too. There was no vestibule as there is now, there was an alcove we called the 'Way'. That was a good spot to huddle into during a windy or rainy day or just when we couldn't decide what to do next. As for the inside of the building, sparse is the word that comes to mind. There were bare rafters above and a bare concrete floor below. On certain nights when nothing was going on teenagers were permitted to use the hall for playing records and dancing. Everybody would grab their LP's and 45's and head up to the Hill and get together.

I was only about 8 or 9 but since the only was my sister could get out of the house on a school night was to drag me along. And so I went. Since I was less that 4 feet tall then, Roberta Snook, the tallest girl there would pick me up in her arms and dance with me. For the boys of the day one of the definitions of being 'cool' was to be able to play 'Wipeout' , with or with out a drum set. Pencils and hands were good enough, if you were good enough. Check that out here. I can't remember what the girls were doing to be cool, I was too busy trying to emulate the big guys, Dave Viera, Kevin Gilchrist and Sparky Barnett to name a few. My sister once manged to somehow talk my parents into having a party at my parents house featuring a live band! Quite a memorable event, indeed. Must have been her birthday. I do remember getting on the drum kit the next morning trying my hand at the skins. That may have been why there was never another live band at one of my sisters parties.

In later years I remember Kevin Gilchrist playing his folk guitar in front of the store and at least once an extension cord was run out for electric guitars.

Very laid back and fun days. Hmmm, now where did I put that box of pencils?

Punch (the) Drunk

Last week I happened to be driving on Belleville avenue in New Bedford. As I passed by the bottom of Beetle street I glanced over at R&B Liquors on the corner. I noticed the entryway window was cracked.

I worked there for a time, although I didn't want to. You see I had been laid off from Poyant's Signs and my unemployment benefits were about to run out. I let this fact slip to my landlord. He mentioned that he and his father had just bought a liquor store and asked if I wanted to work there. It's hard for me to say no to a job when my landlord knows I will soon have no income. So I became part of the R&B Liquors workforce.

At that time I was about 3 years into a period of sobriety. If it had been a few years earlier I would have had my dream job.

The neighborhood there is one of the toughest in the city. I witnessed a drive by shooting, during a snow storm of about 8" deep. There was a cast of customers that would have made a good comic strip. The drunks, hookers, gangbangers and homeless people made each day unique.

One drunk, named Billy Vodka was found frozen to death on the steps of a church a block away. It took two weeks for the police to find a living relative. Then there was Stinky Rat Piss, named for an obvious reason. He finally got a small room and started to bathe. The twin prostitutes Bonnie and her sister (I forgot the sisters name) were actually very nice people. Then there was Loose Bruce, he supposedly got the first part of his name because he would have seizures and just before they would occur he would get "loose," like he was about to faint. He never bothered anyone though.

One of the owners friends was named Mario. A twenty something whose parents were from Portugal. Mario had webbed feet, and would get called 'Aflac.'

At the store there were backroom deals going on nightly. Cocaine in the back room, crack in the cooler and weed at the counter. Football gaming tickets were delivered by one of New Bedford's boys in blue. I only worked days. Eventually the state police stopped in and gave a verbal warning to those involved.

I would often see customers crack open a pint of vodka (Kimnoff Vodka, I called it Kill Me Off) and drop it in the barrel near the door. Some guys actually chugged a whole pint in seconds.

One memorable slow morning a very drunk customer came in and just asked to use the bathroom. Since drunks tend to either miss the toilet or throw up I refused his request. He asked, "What the hell am supposed to do?"

"Go behind the factory I," told him. He said he would pee around the back of the building. As long as he was leaving I was happy. Until I noticed him standing in the entry, facing the wall looking down. I couldn't believe someone would actually do that!

I ran (well, moved as fast as I could) to the door and opened it. Before I could think I used my open hand to smack him on the side of the head. I didn't realise how hard I hit him until his head hit the glass entry wall. He was so drunk and surprised he fell over backward and rolled in a backward somersault all the way across the side walk and ended sitting upright on his butt with his back resting against his wife's Plymouth Volare front tire.

I felt a sliver of guilt about what I had done, but it was a small sliver. At the same time the guy was doing his reverse somersault a regular customer had just gotten out of his van parked across the street.

The drunk sat on the sidewalk trying to get up but had to pull himself up using the fender of the car for support. And of course he started spouting off.

"Hit me again," he said. "Go ahead hit me again!" I was unsure weather to whack him once more for good measure, but I remembered the old saying, "Never hit a man when he's drunk."

So I kept walking towards him to prevent him from getting a running lunge at me. Once more he taunted, "Hit me again!" I said, "Buddy I don't think you get the idea of a fight. I already hit you once, now it's your turn to hit me." Just at that moment the guy's wife got out of the car and pleaded,"Don't hit him." It sounded like she felt she had enough to do with him in his state of stupor and wasn''t interested in blood or black eyes.

So she poured him back into the car and drove off. The customer from across the street was laughing out loud saying,"All I saw was a guy come rolling out of the doorway and land on his ass, and the look on your face told the whole story." We had a laugh about it and he left with his purchase. It was a few minutes later that I noticed that the glass in the entry was cracked. Then I realised that I must have whacked him pretty good.

Whenever I drive by and see that still broken glass I can't help smiling about punching the drunk.

Bollux! Bloody 'ell! Brilliant!

I have discovered BBC America. And I love it. I started watching accidentally by stumbling on 'Top Gear', a show about cars. The show is sometimes hilarious, the episode where the three stars are given a set amount of money, in British pounds of course, to each buy a used Alpha Romeo. They are then given challenges, such as a timed race on a set course with points given for certain accomplishments. A certain amount of cheating takes place, mind you. Anyways it's worth a look if you have a chance.

Another show I've found is Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares. Chef Gordon Ramsey attempts to help failing restaurant owners, both in Britain and here, to revive their dying business. Now personally I never liked Gordon Ramsey. I thought he was a pompous ass. Amazingly, by watching him berate slovenly kitchen staff and maitre'ds with more ego than charm I have gained respect for the man. I wondered "who does this guy think he is?" I found out he was a promising rugby player sidelined with a knee injury early in his career. After getting a job scrubbing pots in a kitchen he advanced himself to chef at 21 years old and has a string of successful restaurants in several countries.

By the end of the show the restaurants have turned the corner and everybody lives happily ever after. Or so one might think. Occasionally Ramsey returns to a spot to check up on them. Some thrive while some just sink back into ineptitude.

Another show is Gordon Ramsey's F Word. The show is part cooking and part variety show. The set is an actual restaurant seating 50 patrons. Groups of 4 guest cooks try to whip up a 'starter' or entree, a main course and a dessert. After each course the patrons decide if they feel the item was good enough to pay for...or not. In the end a tally is taken out of a possible score of 150 (50 starters, 59 mains and 50 desserts). Those guests who score highly earn a chance to return in a final. During the show Gordon follows the raising of his 4 lambs, one which meets a tragic end on the estate of David Beckham. They also follow the raising of some calves for veal. Along the way Gordon may explore why a certain food has fallen by the wayside, like tripe, or organ meats. Something I avoid, I can't stand the smell of liver cooking. C'est le guerre!

Towards the end of the F Word a guest diner, usually someone well known in Britain, but most are unknown to me, will challenge Gordon to a cook off. Be it curry chicken, chili or eggs and blood pudding the two dishes are offered for tasting to a table 5 and they decide the better dish. The winner is sometimes surprising.

One more tidbit of television programming is 'Survivors'. Not to be confused with the American show, this is about the lives of Britons who live through a world wide killer virus. Sounds predictable I know, but I like it for some reason. It could be because of Abby the central character who is looking for her son, Peter. The small group that is living in a country estate are lucky enough to have a wine cellar, grounds stocked with game and Range Rovers and BMW's. Not too shabby, eh mate?

Watching all the British shows has me thinking like a Limey.

"Now we're in the shit!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Hows yer mum?"

"Fancy a crisp?" Oh that's from the Geicio commercials, I think.

Anyhoo, if you're bored, give the BBC shows a try. You might find them brilliant.

Into The 21st Century

Well the earth and I have survived another another trip around the sun. My 49th birthday was last month and when it's that time of year it's time for me to shave and get a hair cut. Grace said I had the "Grizzly Adams look".

I'm fine with that. I like the self sustaining idea that Adams personified. http://www.grizzlyadams.net/
Of course Dan Haggerty is a little taller, a little stronger and just better looking than me. But animals seem to like me so maybe I could get along with a bear too.

That reminds me.
A bear and a rabbit are taking a shit in the woods. The bear turns to the rabbit and says,"Do you have a problem with shit sticking to your fur?"
The rabbit says "No."
So the bear picks up the rabbit and wipes his ass with the rabbit.

I have had continuous computer problems for about the past 2 years. My eMachine from 1999 was running Windows ME and most sites now just aren't compatible with ME. Sid and Stacey have helped me with (1) HP machine but it was inoperable. When the eMachine's power supply started being obstinate I perfromed a transplant and "It was alive!" Sid and Stacey then managed to get me a (2)used Compaq computer that was an ex UMass Dartmiouth machine. That worked flawlessly until I got an E-card virus, and it slowly sank into the dreaded "blue screen" condition. Sid and Stacey got me a another(3) ex UMass Compaq. It unfortunately suffered from sometime of hardware failure.

Shortly after Dee and Dave Cardin from Littleneck st offered me an (4)HP machine that had just been run through a reformatting. It refused to work for me, but suddenly cooperated. It runs Windows XP and everything seems fine with it, except it was lacking MS Works.

Well last week I saw an eMachine E725 laptop at Walmart for $300 and decided the cat can get neutered next month. I think he won't mind at all. Willy is fine now by the way. So I have finally moved in the 21st Century technology. I can't wait to lay in thhammock and read the Standard Times on my laptop. "Joe Cool." Beep when you drive by and see my butt hanging nearly to the ground while the hammock strains from my weight. The eMachine got some good reviews so I should be set for a few years, computer wise.

I now have no excuse as to why I haven't started writing about Max Fox and the run rubbers. Oops! I meant rum runners. It takes time to get used to the new keyboard.

Another joke. Last night at the Oscars Mickey Roarke said he once had sex with 14 women in one day. Tigers Woods commented, "Amature!"(I can't get a correct spell check on that word).

So if you were keeping track I now have 6 computers around the house. Time for Spring cleaning and a shave.

The town of Fairhaven is abuzz with the news that a movie titled "Fairhaven" will be shot here in the Fall. It really is exciting as they will be filming a scene....HERE...on WEST ISLAND!
How cool is that. Verrry cool indeed.

The Bombs Bursting Innn Aaayyyerrrrr!

I'm talking about the National Anthem of course.

Watching the Budweiser Shootout last night a band I have never heard of, Zac Bown, and they were pretty good. It kinda' bristles my britches when I hear a singer or band giving 'their artistic rendition' of the NA. Man! Unless you're Jimmie Hendrix give the NA it's 'props, yo!"

More specifically I refer to the likes Roseanne Bar. She tore the song into shreds and I don't mean that in a flattering way.

I have passed this link around after receiving it from my most charming cousin Linette. Linette is planning a trip to this area in 2012. Before the big.... bad thing supposedly occurs. She really is a doll, caring and compassionate, a true Texas Rose.

Back to the link. They're called the Cactus Cuties and even though I'm tired of admitting this, they can choke you up and bring a tear to my eyes.

For some reason my cut and paste won't work so Google 'you tube Cactus Cuties'. And prepared to be awed!!

That is how the NA should be done!

Soooo... because only writing about the CC's will make to short of of a blog...I'm watching the Super Bowl and will be adding my critique of the commercials. But for now I'm out of blackberry branday. So I'm signing off.

Great Legs! Found these in the trash in New Bedford among oak scraps fo the wood stove.

Waddya' think. Coffee table. Shelf brackets?
(turned upside down of course). Hey, I'm getting pretty good at one hand typing wih my rifht hand.)

Why?!!!

Why.

I have often found myself being asked or asking myself, why do I do the things I do?

Not the silly little things I do, like having more than one slice of cheesecake. I know the answer to that. Because it's so damn good!

One of the first times I was asked "why" and I had to ponder the answer was when I researched Daniel Robinson. Daniel Robinson lived in New Bedford in 1893. Robinson was jailed for drunkenness and when his wife Mary refused to post his $10 bail he swore from his seat in the courtroom that he would kill her. When he was released 30 days later New Bedford's own "Gray Bar Hotel", the Bristol County House of Correction he fulfilled that promise. He was arrested, tried and convicted, amid much controversy, he was hanged at the Ash street jail. He remains the only man ever legally hanged in New Bedford and remembered as the last man hanged in Massachusetts. The gallows he was hanged from was and still may be in the attic of the jail. The same area Lizzie Borden had been jailed during her trial.

For some reason I found this story fascinating. During my research I found a letter to the editor dated days after the grisly murder of Mary Robinson that cited the Borden trial asking sarcastically whether or not Robinson would be treated as exclusively as Lizzie was. I mentioned on the Lizzie Borden forum about my find of the Lizzie related article. Immediately I was asked what made me interested in the Robertson murder.

I had assumed that it would be interesting to anybody and began to question my reasons. T hat was about 8 years ago.

Since then I stumbled onto rum runners in the area and became obsessed with researching the topic. That lead me to Max Fox, a local 'gangster' of the 1920's. That led me to other local crime figures of Jewish, Irish and Italian heritage.

Every once in a while I suddenly realize the amount of time and resources I have invested in local history. And I ask the one word question. "Why?" The word may be the only word in the English language that is a sentence. Short and to the point it demands an answer. An answer I can't provide.

When I ask myself this question I think. My next thought is usually "Nobody else gives a shit about this. Who cares what happened 90 or more years ago?"

Once there was a newspaper article regarding a lecture that the head archivist of the New Bedford public library was about to give at the 200 year anniversary of the New Bedford Superior Courthouse. The topic was Daniel Robertson. And I suddenly feel vindicated!

I was first on the topic of course! That bastard stole my idea!

Actually though I was first to research Robertson after I saw a query from one of descendants on a rootsweb.com forum, Paul Cyr had received the same request in an email to the library genealogy department. It took him longer to begin his research because of his workload there.

"I must have been on the right track."

When it came to rum runners I did hundred of hours of research, interviews over the telephone and in person. I traveled as Providence and West Greenwich Rhode Island. As I drove around I searched for places Max Fox, Charlie Travers and Herb Cavaca would have traveled to. I drifted onto the topic in almost every conversation.

I dreamed of what it must have been like to live in the '20's. Young girls became flappers, something as controversial then as some fashion trends are now. Gypsies were considered a problem. The common car was the Ford Model T. The ice and coal delivery trucks were as common as Comcast and Verizon trucks are today. Radio was becoming popular, both as an entertainment and broadcasting as a hobby. Vaudeville was still around but would soon all but disappear as movie theaters took over and 'talkies' would soon be all the rage.

"Why should I keep digging? WHO cares?"

Every now and then I drift into my rum runners spiel and find someone who seems interested in a romantic, adventurous and exciting time. It's those people that convince me that I am still on the right track. It's their encouragement that pushes me one step closer to writing about those daring men and women who stood up against a law the country didn't want and helped bring and end to Prohibition. And made a ton of cash, too!

So if I run into you and suddenly start telling you about the time Al Capone came to Fall River try to humor me and help to keep me from getting derailed.

Thanks.

Near Record Cold Temperatures

As I was checking the weather Channel for a break in the recent cold snap we are experiencing I noticed the projected high and low temperatures in the weather almanac. The record low was 7 degrees in 1977.

That is specifically January 30, 1977.

Now, if you know me you realize that the random mention of some seemingly innocuous place or date can provoke me to go into a long winded story. Seven degrees on January 30, is no exception of course.

As I recall that January was even colder than it is now.

I had to walk 5 miles back and forth to school, uphill both ways, in a blizzard pulling a sled full of dogs... Oh wait that's another story.

But it was coollldd! Being 15 years old, cold is only a limiting factor when asked to do something by your parents. "Kevin, get your feet off the coffee table!"

"But Ma, it's too cold!"

My friends and I had a routine on Friday and Saturday nights that involved going to Ray Carr's house on Fisherman's road and drink beer and smoke pot. (Hey it was the '70's!) One of the highlights of a Saturday night was watching the Muppet Show at 7:00. Try to imagine 6 stoned and drunk idiots watching Gonzo blow up other puppets.

I guess watching the Swedish Chef gave a bad case of the hungry horrors and we all piled in Ray's 1970 4 door Nova and headed out to Burger Chef. A trip to the 'Chef' was known as the 'Chef Charade'. A term coined by Karl Pederson. Burger Chef was located where Burger King now sits.

On the trip home someone commented on the fact the bays on both sides of the causeway were frozen as far as one could see. Because I rode my dirt bike mostly every day I added that the sand along Crescent Beach at the Town Beach was frozen solid and an iceberg had grounded at the far end of the beach. I had also seen seals basking near the iceberg. No one seemed to believe me. Taking a ride to the Town Beach seemed like a grand idea, to investigate my claim. When we got to the beach Ray drove down the access road that crosses the marsh near the tower. When we reached where the lane turns to beach we all got out and walked over the sand to the waters edge and sure enough, the sand was frozen to within 3 feet of the waters edge. Only a bit of a white blob was visible of the iceberg half a mile away. Everyone wanted to see it up close but didn't feel like walking out and back in the cold.

We all piled in the Nova and headed slowly out on the beach. I suggested that since I knew the beach intricately that I should sit in the shotgun seat. Ray agreed. I guided Ray just below the high water mark where seaweed accumulates and tends to be softer. If one tire rolled into a soft spot the car would be hopelessly stuck out in the middle of the beach.

As we neared the iceberg it became plainly visible and everybody was hootin' and hollerin'! Ray was astonished. None of us had ever seen or heard of an iceberg even near West Island's waters. When we reached a point where I knew the fine frozen sand turned into a loose gravel, I directed Ray to head to the crest of the dune and turn around to face the car back towards where we came. I knew this was the most likely spot that the car could get stuck so heading down the dune and a few yards back was the best choice at that time.

We got out of the car and raced to the ice flow. The spot where the ice had grounded was in the water at high tide but accessible by walking over the boulders at low tide and was about 100 feet out. Since I knew the rocks were capped with a layer of ice I stopped at the waterline. I had seen the spectacle in the daylight and watching the others amazement was enough for me. Peter Ostiguy made it all the way out to and on top of the iceberg and shouted back that it was bigger than Ray's house!. I think Scott West fell on the glazed rock and returned to the beach. Someone decided we should leave and it was fun to watch Peter trying to get back to the car before we left him there!

We made it back without incident and had an amazing story to tell about 'The Iceberg at the Town Beach'.

It's really amazing and a testament as to how cold it was that winter. When we got out of the car Ray left the motor running. It never occurred to me then but the heat from the engine, exhaust and even the temperature difference between the tires and sand could have caused one wheel to break through the ice crust. If that did happen it probably would have been nearly impossible to recover the Nova, or at a minimum, very expensive.

By definition the iceberg was a 'medium' sized one. Seals have been sighted around the Island since 1977 but never an iceberg as big as a house, nor has anyone else ever driven a 1970 Nova out to Monastary Rock!

I am near tears

My shed caught fire. Thelma and Louise are presumed lost. An electrical transformer on a fluorescent light looks like the cause. After 4 months or so of work I had just today made a successful mold for my foundry. I had been trying for 4 days to get it right. On the way to St Anne's Pain Center this morning I felt this sudden surge that this would a GREAT year.

I can't judge something as important as a year on just one bad day out of 18 so far.

I am vacillating between anger and thanks. Anger being the hardest feeling to modulate.

Get this. I saved a humongous bottle (nearly empty) of Jack Daniels, a small bottle of Kahlua,(new), and 4 Moosehead beers. I had already removed a bottle of Mr Boston Blackberry Brandy earlier. I am not proud of this but Jack, Mr Boston and I will most likely be very close tonight.

My 'Library' of manuals and how to books has hopefully been removed by Louise (the smart Rat) to a safe place. Doubtful at best. I anticipate nightmares. Sometime during the conflagration which lasted 20 minutes or more from discovery to a black, smokey wet climax. Willy, my cat, under quarantine, escaped. Let's hope the rats and he have reached a peace accord.

I have just finished reading "A Wind To Shake The World:The 1938 Hurricane" for anybody who wants to borrow it, email me. A seemingly fitting way to end the day, learning of the hardship of others .

7:00 a.m. Tuesday
Willy had returned in 30 minutes last night. That was good. I did have a dream about the rats. They were all black and there were 3 of them. That meant there was Thelma and Louise and a wild rat. I couldn't determine which one was the 'bad' rat. That's all I remember of the dream.

I went out in my pajamas to survey the mess in daylight. I suppose it could have been worse. I am reminded of a conversation with someone long ago.
Me, "I had a motorcycle accident in which I broke my left clavicle, 2 ribs, bones in my neck, 2 places in my right hip, my pelvis, my left femoral neck, femur and tibula and fibula, my right ankle, my tailbone, I had a collapsed lung and pneumonia along with a head injury."
Person, "Wow. You're lucky!"

Of course he meant I was lucky to be alive, but you can see my irony in his reply.

So I will say, I'm lucky that the fire wasn't worse than it was. I thought I heard some scratching around. Maybe Thelma or Louise? The acrid smell of burnt electronics that I know relates to transformers hangs in the air. The reason I know what burnt transformers smell like is because I worked making them for 3 years.

My drill press, bench grinder and compressor are on the opposite side and below most of the damage. Wooden shelves across the underside of the roof helped the fire spread from the light.

Life lesson: Suspend lights as far from ceilings as possible and leave good air space around their sides.
I wanted to switch from 4 foot lights to those twisty little screw ins. I didn't. My mind is blank as to a sentence to follow that. Maybe "I've got more excuses than a pregnant nun," is fitting.

The aluminum roof melted and buckled in 2 spots. I know that aluminum melts at around 1400 degrees. That fact wasn't on my mind as I opened the shed doors last night and had to get down on my knees to crawl in with a garden house. If it had been freezing there would be nothing left waiting for the Fire Department. It takes 7-10 minutes for emergency vehicles to get down here from the Police and Fire station.

Amid the soot blackened items there is surprising beauty. A stereo speaker cover peeled away from the speaker box as it melted. The backside of it was made with some sort of large mesh material. The mesh is distorted and stretched in a mesmerising pattern as if it were a dancer leaning over backward. A bottle of Seagram's heated to the breaking point now resembles a crown. Supreme irony in that the now missing label had an image of a crown. An aquarium light that was in storage now looks like shiny, dripping molasses. The drips hang 2 feet from the shelf.

I want to get out there and throw out as much as I can, today is garbage day. I feel that I have to start cleaning and rebuilding right away or I may just give up on my shop.

So off I go.

11:30 All I can do is stare. More amazing items catch my eye. A round plastic battery powered wall clock still hanging over my workbench looks for all the world like a Salvador Dali painting. Drooping into an egg shape it's hands stopped at 4:55. A cheap yellow coil of air hose has melted into a flat intricate swirl that reminds me of a Spirograph drawing. A newly started collection of stacked up CD's featuring Stevie Ray Vaughn, Bob Seeger and others have become one blob of plastic. Fusion music.

A box of disposal blue nitrile gloves sits on the work bench. The fingers of the gloves reaching nearly their flash point has the fingers of the pointing up out of the box, curling as if their nearly escaped the box before being overcome.

Out of the black sooty silence I can hear a scratching. As I grab a jar of peanuts and shake it I see a little black face poke out from under the cabinet that held spray paint cans whose caps have melted but thankfully didn't explode. Louise scurries onto the workbench for her treats. Still too afraid to let me pick her up she grabs one nut and retreats behind the television that once was square and now is...sorta' roundish. Maybe Thelma will show too.

I think my major machines are OK. The drill press' caution stickers have melted and curled up on themselves as if they were hiding from the whole mess. My first successful sand mold that had me so happy at 4:00 yesterday is now a sloppy slab of clay in a box. I don't mind about that, it will give me a chance to make it better. Right now I need a sunny day for inspiration. Thanks to anybody who reads this.

Parking Lot Ecosystems

I hate to seem like I'm obsessed with Walmart but I've actually noticed this some time ago.

On any given Saturday morning I often need some incidentals to keep me busy. Spray paint, hinges or charcoal are good examples. I loved it when while in the checkout line on a recent visit I had two bags of charcoal and a stove top grease splatter ring. The cashier inquisitively asked me what I will be cooking. With a wry smile I answer, "Aluminum !", and observe her confused look. I then explain it's for a home foundry and tell her it allows me to make all kinds of cool stuff. "I'll bet", she answers, closing the door on the conversation.

As I approach the plaza lot from Alden road I can see I'm on the fringe of the Parking Lot Ecosystem. I can compare Walmart to a water hole on the Serengeti.

The first species spotted is usually the Impala who cuts me off at the intersection while in flight from the parking lot. As I creep in moving as slowly and quietly as the sand beneath my tires will allow I spot another denizen of the Walmart parking lot, the Buzzard! The buzzard is identified by it's slow circling through the parking spaces looking for a freshly opened spot. It's not uncommon to spot a flock of buzzards, which is usually a good sign that it may be too risky to enter the store on this day. Too many buzzards is a sure sign that it's best to leave right away.

On this day I decide to risk it and enter the fray. Suddenly as I approach a parking spot I see him! Criminy it's a Hyena! Hyenas sweep in just as you are about to enter a parking spot and they steal the spot. Beware of the hyena's, it's best not to confront them and just move on.

I'm now headed towards the main entrance of the store and at the intersection out of nowhere comes a speeding Cheetah! Isn't he a beautiful beast with his shiny wheels! Possibly the fastest animal in this ecosystems, the cheetah loves to fly by at 30 miles per hour with no regard for other vehicles or pedestrians. The cheetah barely misses one of the slower species exiting the store, a Hippopotamus. Hippos can be identified by their slow leisurely meandering as they walk through the parking lot. Following behind hippos are usually the Jaybirds, who walk diagonally across lanes and continue through the middle of the travel ways. You may be tempted to bag a hippo or jaybird to hang it's head on the wall of your garage but be forewarned. The black and white Zebras can be lurking around the corner. Besides it's black and white colors the zebras sport a flashing blue crest. Beware the zebras.

One of the more irritating species are the Opossums, who appear to sleeping while not in an actual parking spot, but are actually waiting for somebody to back out. The opossums usually get in the way making backing out of a space very difficult while avoiding Hippos and Jays. Then there are Toads who sit anywhere they please, referring 'No Parking Zones', while they sun themselves.

The next time you happen to find yourself at Walmart, take a look around at the flourishing ecosystem you can see there. If you happen to find an unreported species please let me know.