Nokatay Blog

Chasing Rainbows

2010-10-30T09:18:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-06T17:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-04T11:54:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-03T14:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-22T19:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-17T08:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-03-30T09:47:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-30T08:17:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-03-29T11:36:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-03-15T13:45:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-02-07T15:28:00.000-08:00

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?!!!

2010-02-02T06:31:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-31T05:38:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-18T15:18:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-17T06:08:00.000-08:00

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.

The Foundry Flourishes!

2009-12-30T18:05:00.000-08:00

Two posts in one day! I actually have several posts in draft form. The Mayan Calendar idea actually came as a dream. I am fortunate to be able to remember some of my dreams.

So the third clay foundry I have made seems to be holding together, even at 1400 + degrees. The lid didn't fare so well, as the other 2 did, it cracked to pieces. I noticed a 25 pound barbell weight laying around and it happened to fit quite well. A test firing of the foundry didn't end up well. The aluminum ended up in a big mass and it stuck in the stainless steel sugar canister I used as a crucible to melt in. I suspect the 25 pound weight "stole" too much heat from the foundry. The clay lids act as an insulator. I later found a disc brake rotor that fit as a lid and gave it it try today. Everything went nearly textbook! I have made a 5 inch steel pipe into a crucible and despite a small dribble of molten aluminum from the bottom of the vessel everything was fine. You can see the pipe with molten aluminum in the above picture. She ain't pretty but she's hot!

I used aluminum pie plates, disposable roaster pans and an old gas grill I hammered to pieces small enough to fit into the foundry. If you place large aluminum pieces over an open fire for a few minutes they break easily with a hammer. All told today I netted about 2 pounds of alloy. Probably 8 pounds short of what i will need to cast a metal lathe. looks like I have to eat more pie! I used a muffin tin for molding my ingots after I skimmed the dross from the melt.

You can see the nice shiny "biscuits" in the picture.

Considering my use of a homemade clay foundry, fueled by charcoal and a hairdryer for an added air charge and all the tools I used for skimming and pouring and capped by an old brake rotor I am extremely satisfied. Just as an addendum, I do use leather welding gloves and apron along with a face shield. This can be dangerous stuff. The heavy plank I placed the muffin tin on to pour my alloy was burned about a quarter of an inch deep and smoked for more than 20 minutes.

As a closer I have added a picture of the "Nokatay-Rat's Nest Shop" doors painted a few months ago by my nephew Justin

The Mayan Calandar

2009-12-30T08:33:00.000-08:00

I have made a discovery regarding the Mayan Calendar. I know why the Mayan (c. 2000 BC to 250 AD), chose December 21, 2012 as the last day of their calendar.

They were sick and tired of the Christmas Holiday shopping season.

It's true. You see Christ's true birthday is rumored to be in August or earlier, depending on what source you use.

So theoretically, just as today, Mayan Christmas items were on sale in August. I say theoretically because that is only true for the Christian Mayans who were few and far between.

I also believe I have answered another riddle regarding the Mayans. Their great stone temples were not temples at all. They were ancient Walmarts. After careful study of pictures of Mayan temples I see that they were made in a stepped wall fashion. Obviously these were display shelves. Much like modern up scale department stores the more expensive items were kept on the upper tiers. This made it harder for shoplifters to get away quickly with expensive goods. And so this proves another point. Shoplifters became human sacrifices.

Another clue to the Temple/Walmart discovery is in the stone carvings. If you look very closely and squint real hard you can see smiley faces. Rollbacks!

Proof positive of my hypothesis.

The grand stairways on which the Mayan calendars were carved must have actually been the Walmart checkout line. Having a calendar in the checkout line was useful with such a long line. Walmart has since realized that having time telling devices in view of the checkout lines are a bad idea.

In the time of the Mayas writing and math skills were for only the royals and clerics. This made it easy to rip off the average Mayan. Merchandise returns were handled in the human sacrifice department. There were few returns.

Mayans who had been given items as gifts that they had no use for found a way to exchange them for cash. It was just a quick trip to the Great Plains of America. Once there a certain Indian tribe was happy to exchange the items or offer a loan on the item. These Indians were known as the Pawnees.

I feel there is a little more work to do in proving my theory. So I shall continue to provide updates on this discovery.

(This Blog is intended to offend no one. It is purely satire.)

I am not a Crook! But I know a guy who knows a guy

2009-12-01T06:44:00.000-08:00

I can actually remember trying to decide if I wanted to be a good guy or a bad guy. I was about 5 or 6 years old. Either occupation seemed to have it's advantages. Joe Friday was a heck of a good guy. Joyous is not a word someone would use to describe Joe, but he always managed a smile or two each show. The bad guys on Batman seemed to have a lot of fun, but getting all those BIFFS and BAMS on the chin didn't seem like a good time to me.

I reckoned I should try each profession out for a while and see what had the best to offer. While not technically a deliberate crime, at the age of 6 I set the woods on the corner of Dogwood street and Causeway road on fire. There was this little pit there, probably a past attempt at a perk test, that made a cool trench for playing army. I was "dug in" one day and decided I needed a camp fire and lit some dead grass to warm my rations on. Before I could react the whole grass lined pit was ablaze. I tried to stamp it out with my foot but it was futile. Doing the next smartest thing I could think of, I ran.

I ran home and went right up to my room and listened as the fire engine raced down the Neck road and onto the Causeway. Peeking out my upstairs window I could see people straining their necks to see what was going on up at the corner. Looking back now I imagine my mother had somewhat of a suspicion when I didn't come running down the stairs and jump on my bike at the first sound of a siren.

As kids we had a good response time to emergency calls. We would all gather at the top of the hill at the first sound of the sirens. We would then spread out to the corner of each street, Dogwood, Cottonwood and the others. If none of us saw a anything out of the normal the kid at Balsam would head south, the direction with the most area and most likely to be the location. Of course we had no idea of what we were looking for. We expected to find a train wreck or an apartment building on fire. Keep in mind there are no train tracks or apartment buildings on the Island. Our system never worked because even if we were on the right street they went flying by and we had to pedal like hell to follow them.

My staying in the house was a good move as it turned out. With in a few minutes I heard voices downstairs and my mother was calling for me. I did the smartest thing. I hid in the attic. My mother and the male voice came up stairs and looked for me and soon the man left. Before I heard the gate click close my mother opened the attic door and dragged me down stairs and started grilling me. I knew how the criminals being interrogated under the lamp felt, I was sweating bullets. Every time Mom banged her hand on the counter demanding to know "what were you thinking?" I thought of the rubber hose whacking the guy being "sweated".

I denied everything of course, as the soot ran down my forehead from the sweat. It was then that Mom took me up the street, to see the carnage I had created I assumed, but it was to retrieve my bicycle. It seems in the heat of the moment in natural my urge to fight or flight I forgot my bike. Holy cow, Batman! That's like a bank robber leaving a car registered to him at the scene of the crime! The devastation I imagined that I had created was nothing more than a 3 foot spot of burned grass. Seems it burned itself out during the 7 or 8 minutes it takes for the fire engine to arrive.

I had to tell my Dad what I had done when he got home. That was probably the hardest thing I had ever done in my life at that time. Worse than when Frank Coelho's dog Sarge bit me on the back of the head and I got 14 stitches. Of course I got the "strap". Three whacks on a bare butt. Oh the humanity!

My next foray into the underworld happened at Mammoth Mart. A Kresge type store which was locacted where Shaw's is today. We had ridden our bikes up the Neck and were flexing our muscles with this new found freedom as 8 years olds will do. My friend Rick Rucker showed me how to steal Matchbox cars. You open the package and put the car in your pocket. That's it. Seemed simple. I opened 10 packages and stuffed the cars in my pockets. As I walked by a mirror in the shoe department I realized that with my overloaded pockets I looked like a Canadian Mounted Police. I ditched the cars in the light bulb aisle. I walked out a new man. An honest man of 8 wisened years.

It wasn't too long after that patches became a big fad. Jean patches, jacket patches. Peace signs, love thmes and American flags among them. These were cool! Really cool. And thin. I coulf fit a few of these in my pockets and no one would even know! I used restraint and stole 4. When I got them home I checked them out to see where I wanted them sewn. SEWING! Ahhh, cheez!! They gotta be SEWN! I can't sew. If I ask my Mom to sew them she'll know I stole them (Moms can see right through even real good lies). That ended the Great Patch Caper.

By 12 years old I think my criminal enterprises were in the past. Oh, we still rode around on our bikes and kicked over Wally Bithers trash cans every Wednesday night. Trash collection was on Thursdays then. Glenn and Scott West said we did that because Wally's dog Sam would chase us, but it seems he only chased us because we kicked over the trash cans. But it was still fun to out run Sam. Eventually I got the Island paper route and had to become a respectable businessman in the neighborhood.

When I was in my twenties I was approached by one of my customers at Budget Rent A Car. Bob Mosher was a Boston guy who rented a car from us a month at a time. Instead of cash he paid in merchandise. Expensive cameras, video tapes and assorted items. This was deal between him and my boss Bill Deveraux. The name Devereuax was Irish Bill contended even though everyone thought it was French. He provided a map of Ireland to prove there is a County Deveraux. So now he was OK with Irish Bob Mosher. Bob asked me if I was Irish and I told him my grandmother Dehlia (Murdock) was from Ireland. I was OK with Bill now too. I was too naive at the time to realize but Bob was part of the Boston Irish Winter Hill Gang, of Whitey Bulger fame. In our conversation Bob asked if I drank, and I boasted how much I could drink. That right there was when Bob said, "Oh I can't use you then." Seems gangsters don't like drinkers because they run their mouths too much. My drinking probably saved me from an eventual prison stretch.

Another guy I worked with in the late 1990's was a great guy. Donnie Lafond had a bad habit of punching in late on our 2nd shift. He would then go into a corner of the plant and start counting money. Lots of money! Like $3000 or so. The first time I saw him counting out cash I said, "Hey, that's a lot of cash!"

Donny said, "Yeah, needs some?", and picked up a wad of about 400 bucks and held it out.

"No, no thanks", I said. I got a 10 pound bag of frozen chicken legs this week. I'm all set."
"Well, anytime," offered Donny. I would see him counting cash about twice a week.

Once during break time someone asked Donny where he gets all the money. He explained that he and his buddy would go to Boston and rob drug dealers. We all let out a collective 'Ooooohhhhh," nodding approvingly.

Well hey, that's all right! Rob the bad guys, helll yeah! Boston, there must be a ton of bad guys there! Great gig if you got the heuvos.

A few weeks later I was reading the newspaper and there was an article about a bank robbery. The article had a surveillance photo. It sure looked like Donny to me. The next day at work Donny and I were in the washroom and I cautiously mentioned that I had a seen a picture that reminded me of him. "Where was that Donny asked?"

"In a bank robbery surveillance photo,'" I said meekly.

"Oh shit. Don't go around saying things like that around here, you know how people are!" he moaned.

That was the last time we saw Donny in person. He went to lunch and never came back. Less than a week later though Donny was spotted on TV. One of the guys came in and was very excited. He said he saw the police were chasing 3 bank robbers. The chase started in Cranston, RI and ended at the Connecticut border on I-95. The story showed film of Donny being led away in handcuffs, tons of money stuffed in his belt and full of blood. There were reports of gunshots being fired at the officers. It turned out that his gun wasn't loaded but was pointed at the pursuers during the chase. The blood was the exploding red dye pack in the money bag. Donny and his crew ended up in Federal Prison for 20 years, although he did escape once while being transported and was caught a few hours later.

Donny had a severe drug habit and was robbing banks to fund his habit. Last I heard he was doing well in prison.

Me, I prefer to be stuck here on West Island, driving my Jeep through puddles. Sometime I do chuckle when I make the corner of Dogwood street and Causeway road. You see, that little Army trench is still visible if you look real hard.

The Floundering Foundry and Thelmas Addictions

2009-11-27T07:44:00.000-08:00

As seems the case with other Bloggers (you know who you all are!), I haven't made an entry in quite a while. After a piss poor start to the year my health has improved and I feel strong, well comparatively speaking, of course.

Bi-lateral lumbar radiography (they stick needles in your back and zap the nerves!) has been great for me and a brace made by Matt Hebert of Precision Orthotics has been fantastic. Stacey actually told to slow down while I was walking down the stairs at Dianne and Roland's after a meeting!

As some of you know I decided to fabricate a wood stove out of 1/8" steel plate from a set of discarded cellar bulkhead doors. The result was a fascinatingly grotesque device that resembles a part that has fallen off a steam locomotive. The idea of a "free' wood stove sounded too good to pass up. It was a lot of fun and great for building my fabrication skills but wasn't quite free. The seemingly nominal cost of nuts and bolts kept growing with each added seam. The worn drill bits and cutting disks added to the bill. When my little 5 gallon compressor died a sudden death from overuse powering my air drill everything came to a screeching halt. "What shall I do, I thought?"

While retrieving the mail that day the answer came in booming giant red letters on a flyer in the box.

HARBOR FREIGHT TOOLS

My desired compressor was on SALE! The 21 gallon 3 horsepower model was 40 bucks off! I could save 40 bucks. Somehow the fact that I was spending more than 160 bucks never entered my mind.

Eventually the wood stove was nearly complete. I tried to fabricate a stove pipe from big coffee cans. Don't throw stones at me, it only took a few hours and cut fingers before I realized that a coffee can stove pipe was not a good idea. Off to Home Depot.

You gotta love a gimongous warehouse that has a whole row of motion activated lights set to "test." It's hard not to look like an idiot dancing around trying to make them replicate the laser light show at a Pink Floyd concert. Next time I think I'll put a 4" band aid on my forehead while I jump around in their lighting aisle. People wondering what went wrong in my life will see the big band aid and not point. They'll just shrug their shoulders and drag off their confused kids warning them not to jump off roofs.

I found my stove pipes and a real flue and even some hi temp caulking good to 2000 degrees. I haven't tested it yet, but it's on the to do list.

So the stove is in the shed heating nicely. People either love it or cringe at it. I gotta move the bag of charcoal stored next to it.

During the stove project I happened upon an interesting project. Building a metal turning lathe from scrap. I always wanted one of those! Since I have a unused electric motor from the old compressor it must have been an idea sent from the Gods "Craftsman" and '"Black Decker"!

I promptly ordered the first second and fourth books from the 7 book series, "Building Your Own Metal Working Shop From Scrap". It would be unlike me to read all the directions in order, and not much of a challenge to boot! Actually the 3rd book is a metal shaper which seems duplicitous of a milling machine, but it turns out it may be necessary. Time will tell.

Book one is "The Charcoal Foundry" and is fairly simple. Build a hollow tube with a bottom out of clay. "Hey, I made ashtrays in 1st grade! I can do this." (I skipped Kindergarten. They said I was advanced enough for 1st grade. I wonder if they were disturbed by my Tinkertoy skills?)

I began scrounging materials. After many phone calls I sourced a supply of red clay from a ceramics supply in Braintree. Sure it's a long way to get $30 worth of clay but it's near Ikea. Since I have finally got REAL bed I decided I might find something useful there. By the way, I burned the crumbling old futon frame I had been sleeping on. It heated up quite nicely in the wood stove.

I didn't follow the arrows at Ikea (the awesome smells emanating from the cafeteria got me confused. Sweedish meatballs! ohhhhhh!) and wandered back and forth , hopping through shortcuts. I found some biggg black and white pictures, cowhides and a really cool man cave made from a loft bed and sofa. Another guy and I stood in front of it like Ralphie Parker lusted after his Red Ryder BB Gun (they have Red Ryders at Harbor Freight Tools! And for a hoot check this! http://www.bettysattic.com/website/store/product_detail.asp?UID=&item_no=56147&keyword=BBOB&cat_keyword=BBOB&search_page_no=1&WT.svl=56147 ) )

But nothing for my bed. Too much sensory overload. To balance my chi I headed off to HF Tools.

As I am wont to do, I mixed construction techniques and clay formulas and they were incompatible. Hmrmph. Mixing recipes works in baking. After forming the clay, sand and water mix you need to fire it by starting a wood fire then after it stops steaming you add charcoal to the top and put on the lid to let it burn and cool all night. The entire foundry crumbled after when I checked it in the morning. On to Foundry 2.0.

I pounded all the pieces of the failed foundry and remixed it with more clay, reformed it and refired it. Only 2 small cracks this time. It eventually failed when the 2 small cracks migrated to form 2 pieces of foundry. It split right in half, well maybe 1/3 and 2/3's. So...more pounding of clay into grog and then I will remix the fire clay and start all over. I believe I have remedied the problem by removing the inner wall car board tube form. The clay seems to shrink during firing but the tube remains the same size.

While all this fun stuff I have, of course been spending much time in the Shop. The shop that has a wood stove, stereo and cable tv with a neat little converter box all non HD cable connected tv's will require soon. So I'm ahead of that already. The shop needs a recliner. I perusing Craigslist. And wondering how the hell I can fit one more item in that shed.

It's bad enough the rats, you know, Thelma and Louise, seem to knock things over at night looking for who knows what. They subside on a diet mainly of Cheerios and corn flakes and they lovvve peanuts in the shell. And what are peanuts without beer, right. Well rats are no different and they get a couple of bottle caps full of beer now and then. But the blackberry brandy and cigars have got to stop! I can't leave a shot glass around without them tipping it over and having a party! Once they get liquored up on beer and brandy they have stolen my cigars. Both stubs and lit ones. I can't figure out why they want cigars, I don't let them play with matches. I have switched to a pipe.

In all seriousness they are wonderful pets. They expect a greeting, being scratched behind the ears or picked up and rummage through my pockets for peanuts. Louise got stuck in the lining of my jacket searching for her legumes. My coat was pulsing and throbbing like some kind of Hollywood special effect until I could get her out. I am amazed that they are not disturbed by the noise of the compressor or me banging on things and I actually have to be careful when sawing or hammering because they are so curious they will go right to the most dangerous point, the blade or point of impact.

I hope everyon had a great Thanksgiving. I ate a plate of leftovers as I typed this out. Time for a piece of fudge, some brandy and a smoke.

And I ain't sharing.

The Sounds of Spring

2009-06-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

Spring has arrived on West Island in full force. This may seem like a late statement to some, but on the Island Spring always comes about two weeks later than the mainland. As thew ocean waters and the land warm up we Islanders wander about in a fog. Meterologically speaking of course. The later blooming of forsythias and crocus is a blessing because it means that we also have a lateer Fall. The oaks and maples hold their leaves nearly a month later than elsewhere in the area.
May flowers are popping up in all sorts of odd places and we try to avoid trampling and mowing them. They are the state flower of course. About this time the big beetles are an after sunset regularity and getting Willy, our cat in after dark is more involved. The beetles make a great victim in his game of stalk and pounce.
One thing I have noticed is that the tiny white rose blooms of the wild thorns or as we call them, pricker bushes are especially late this year. Along the highways they are great white pom poms and fragrant in the warmer days. Along our back fence the buds have barely formed. I am happy to say that I have tiny yellow floers on my 'Early Girl' tomatoe plant, a first at this time for me. Thanks to Sid and Stacy for that one and a 'Big Boy' that is doing equally well potted in mt personal compost mix.
The compost pile has become a source of wonder and speculation for me. Don't forget I have a lot of time here. I noticed 3 tiny tomatoe plants sprouting as I was turning the compost over. At least I think they afre tomatoe plants. Time will tell. There should be pumpkins sprouting from the pile. We had an unusual cantalope sized pumpkin that lasted inside until nearly the end of January before it showed mold spots. I placed it near the edge of the pile and am watching for sprouts.
The usual Winter sounds of the propane and heating oil trucks have been replaced with the sounds of the Tru Green lawm trucks and contractors trucks. There are 2 houses being built a block away and 2 recently completed in the other direction. The sounds of hammers and nail guns rattle from all sides sometimes sounding like a gunfight.
The coyotes can be heard howling in the woods near North Cove, I like to hear them there, knowing they are not too nearby. They are another reason Willy has to be in earlier. We lost Scoop and Max last year about his time. Having the 3 cats sleep near my feet was a sight I never thought would happen. Scoop didn't like Max at all, but her baby, Willy loved playing with Maxie and she relented to tolerate Max in order to stay close to Will. Max was a bed hog though. I still miss them.
Our annual Summer companions, the mosquitos, have arrived also. I'm looking for toad tadpoles to keep in the fish pond and hopefully they'll survive and eat the skeeters as they both grow.
There are several boats at the moorings that were just lonely white bouys a few weeks ago. The slips at Earls Marina are nearly full. There's speculation about how many will actually be used beside a weekend party retreat. Most seemed to never leave the marina last year.
The Elizabeth Islands, visible several miles to the south across Buzzards Bay while crossing the causeway or at the Town Beach can be seen clearly this time of year. As the water warms up in July and August a haze settles in the area and the islands seem to be floating over the horizon. For now the cliffs and beaches can be faintly seen.
I just came in from washing our 2 Jeeps. Eaach one was covered in hundreds of the little 'tails' that the oaks dropped in last night's rain. Last week we had yellow pollen everywhere. My red Jeep looked orangey.
The best part of this time of year is that we get to see everybody out and about again. Even strangers driving by wave. Of course we only get about 20 cars a day on our road, so nearly each one gets scrutunized. Don't forget, I have a lot of time here.

Quest For Fire:Update

2009-05-24T05:51:00.000-07:00

Except for the awesome pallets the 'Snap On Guy' throws out I have stopped scrounging for wood. I had a relapse yesterday though. I found a 12 foot piece of beautiful driftwood, nicely twisted and gnarled. It looks great in the driveway as a curb stop.

I'm Just Orginizationally Challenged!

2009-05-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

I'm not really a slob. Well, my beard does seem to occasionally catch a crumb or two, and it seems as though my moustache likes to wick up coffee now and then. My vehicles do tend to be filled to gills with objects that usable at a later date and some that might be better off in the trash can. But all that clutter can have a purpose. Like the time I got stopped on route 18 North near Coggeshall street.

My car wouldn't pass for it's inspection sticker. I got the car for free from the previous owner due to that fact. There was rot right through the rocker panels. A no-no that I hadn't gotten to fix. The inspection guy, who will remain nameless, told me I was better off to just scrape the old sticker off and take my chances. So I did.

Then I got to meet the aforementioned trooper. As I pulled onto Coggeshall street in front of Antonio's restaurant my mind raced for a valid excuse. As my eyes scanned the pile on the front floor I spied a hospital wrist band I had just barely been able to squeeze off the week before. I grabbed it and squeezed it back on. The trooper approached my car and stated that he had stopped me for not having an inspection sticker. I replied, "I know it's not a valid excuse, but I had to use the car to go to the hospital," and held up my wrist so he had a good view of my hospital band. In a few minutes he returned and gave me back my license and registration and muttered something about me having a lucky day.

Two weeks later on the same highway in nearly the same spot but headed south this time I was again stopped for the same reason. I didn't know if was the same trooper so I grabbed a form from Social Security Disability which showed I had an appointment for a an exam. This time I got a written warning. It wasn't the same cop but I'm sure my previous stop showed up on his cruiser's mobile computer.

Once, several years ago I got stopped by a notorious Fairhaven cop. He's been known to pull people out thought the car window, really. My car had trash up to the window of the back seat. Amazingly, this stop involved and invalid sticker, but my insurance had also been canceled. An arrestable offense. During my conversation with officer Lavallee, he stated he liked to see cars like mine, full of trash, that is. When I asked why he said, "Because I like to know that there's some one's car that is worse than mine." He ended up giving me a big break and I was allowed to go to work instead of the police station.

Now my room has gotten full, so to speak. I use the three pile system for laundry. One pile is clean, one is dirty and one 'not really sure'. While I was recently unable to walk due to an infection I asked my sister and her boyfriend to get my crutches so I could get off the couch and go to bed. She asked obviously overwhelmed, "Where are they?"

"Under the pile," I stated as though it was obvious. They saw a crutch bottom sticking out from under one of the piles and gave it a yank. The whole pile began and move as the pulled a little harder. With a sudden surge out came the crutch. Twisted up together came the crutch, a two piece fishing pole and a golf club. I saw them emerge from my room laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes. With the crutch standing straight up and the fishing pole and the golf club making a perfect X, the tangled look for all the world like the doctors symbol.

So see, there actually may be a use for all those seemingly useless items. Whether it be a money saving excuse or just to make somebody smile, just get yourself organized. I'm working on it!

I've Been Sick

2009-05-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

Over the past 6 months I have what seems like one ailment after another.
First back in November of '08 I started with stomach pains and headaches. Oh yeah, there was another symptom. Hallucinations. At first they were just weird, often comical events. Let me relate the first and funniest to you.

I woke up one night at about 2 A.M. I realized the cat was still out and I wanted to call him due to the coyotes that prowl West Island. As I walked by the kitchen window I noticed something amiss in the back yard.

I saw 4 midget fireman running through the yard by the fish pond. They all wore size appropriate black fireman coats with yellow accents on the sleeve cuffs and bottom of their garments. Their boots seemed a bit large though and they ran in funny way. With all due respect to little people, if you can visualize the oversize boots flopping around, it was bizarre.

On one fireman's shoulder was a coil of fire hose, another had a full size ax and the third carried their ladder. The fourth must have been th e Chief because he was empty handed. Mind you I didn't see a fire.
Remember, I observed this all of from the kitchen window. Of course I hurried outside into the back yard only to discover everything quiet and realized it was a hallucination. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow run past the driveway. At about that point I realized I was in my boxers and actually said out loud, “I...don't....wanna'...know.”

I think I found the cat and just went back in and to bed. The next day I remembered the event and laughed to myself. Later in the day I related the sighting to my sister who laughed out loud and wanted to know the exact location. While showing her the spot I noticed that there was a yellow cat litter bucket on the patio table and a yellow coiled air hose hanging along the fence. I realized that these two items contributed to the scene as the reflective yellow on the firemen coats.

So that was just a hysterical minor occurrence. The next event, however, was not funny. I was sound asleep when it seemed someone was using a defibrillator on me. A massive shock struck my chest and everything went bright white.

I woke up with perfectly normal heart rate and breathing. It was, quite literally and pardon the pun, shocking.
The next event was again, while sound asleep when I visualized a face plant on asphalt. I was wearing a full face motorcycle helmet and the impact was frightening. I saw the grain of the asphalt come into contact with the chin guard of my helmet. Again I woke up physically normal but frightened.

To be honest, I believe both of those events were flashbacks. Twenty-two years ago I had a motorcycle accident in which I suffered massive trauma. My helmet bore the marks of several impacts on asphalt. I was also defibbed 3 times. Due to a head injury I couldn't recall the last minute or so before the accident. Probably a blessing, the doctors once told me. One doctor seemed to shiver at the thought.

I decided to research the side effects of my newest medication, tizanidine and found, no surprise, that hallucinations were one possibility. After hearing the fireman story people have asked if they could try some tizanidine. I declined their requests.
The final incident again happened during a sound sleep. I saw a ghost like woman's head emerge from the wall. What made me look up was that I felt something warm touch my hand. She was pretty, young and blond. As she emerged she put her fingers to lips as if to say, “Shhhh. Not to worry,” and then receded back into the wall.
While all of this may sound harmless I was frightened more than I can ever remember. I jumped out of bed, paced back and forth in the living room, hoping that Lianne was awake. I called to her upstairs and got no response. She was sound asleep. I was shaking. I couldn't go back into my bedroom for over an hour. I stopped the tizanadine the next day.
After a few days I realized my headaches and stomach aches stopped. So did the hallucinations. Success.

January 2nd of '09 I fell in my shed, also known as the Man Cave. I landed on my shoulder and it was excruciatingly painful. I immediately went to lie down and stayed there for 2 hours. When I tried to get out of bed my shoulder popped and felt much better. It may have been dislocated. Later tests revealed three tears in and around the rotator cuff. Xrays and MRI's also revealed arthritis and a previously broken neck that I wasn't aware of and advanced arthritis in my shoulder.

Around March a bad cold developed into pneumonia. Throughout all this time I went out to my shed and worked a little out there, made a fire in the wood burner (the smoke a probable contribution to the pneumonia), worked on the Jeep and other chores.

May and it's flowers brought me a toe infection, not due to May flowers, I must point out. A very attractive R.N. proclaimed the infection brought on gout. I am adamant that is not gout! I defend this diagnosis as strongly as Arnold Schwartzenegger, in 'Twins', proclaimed “It's not a toomuh!” (tumor). I guess because it means no beer, shellfish or red meats. I spent up to 2 days at a time in bed, except to go to the bathroom and to eat an apple or a banana. Over one 3 day period I ate only 3 apples. Crutches were mandatory.
Today, I walked for the first time in over a week without crutches or a cane. Hopefully a sign of recuperation and better days to come. What I have learned is watch out for midget firemen, don't fall in your shed, don't breath smoke and use an anti fungal spray in your sneakers. So, in closing I wish you all happy days and good health!

By the way, yes those are my x-rays and those are 3 inch screws in my femur!

The Quest for Fire

2009-05-09T03:29:00.000-07:00

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My name is Kevin. I am an addict. I hoard wood.

It may sound strange but it's true. I think it began last summer. My sister Lianne started having small campfires in our portable backyard fire pit. I began by picking up discarded wood for her fires. After discovering the seasonal outdoor-dockside bar at Earl's Marina on the Causeway she gave up the fire pit.

Since there was quite a bit of wood left over I started tending the fires myself.
While driving down Sconticut Neck road on Mondays I would see wood scraps piled for the trash men and scoop them up. The occasional pallet was a big score. They burn nicely.
At the end of last summer my friend from Balsam street, Scott Hartman, finished his new house and demolished the small cottage he and his family had lived in before they built the new home. Scott works for Comcast, but I don't hold that against him. The walls of the cottage were strategically sawed through leaving the structure standing and then was knocked down with a Bobcat. A whole house is a lot of wood!

Scott filled a dumpster with whatever would fit in it and posted a "Free wood" sign on the remaining debris.

I made several trips to his house and filled the trunk of my Taurus (Babe,The Blue Ox) with an amazing amount of wood each time. This lumber still had the trim and wiring attached. I burned it all.

It became an obsession. Once all of Scott's house was burned up I began scouting for more wood and I found a steady supply of building scraps from Jaime, who was building a new house on Fir street. Again, I loaded up the trunk of the Blue Ox with wood, using plywood scraps to allow the trunk to be filled as high as possible. It was all brand new pine and of course, it burned nicely. I had so much wood from Jaime's house that I built a wall 8 feet high and 12 feet long out of OSB (oriented strand board) and 2x4's that I used as a wind break during the Fall months. Due to the fickle nature of New England weather I needed to put wheels on the "Wall" so it could be moved easily. When it nearly fell on me one night I dismantled it. It was like a massacre. There was OSB all over the yard.

After the new lumber supply dried up I happened upon a new source. My neighbor, Howe, on Dogwood street had recently remodeled his house and had a stash of wood in the backyard that he wanted to get rid of. It was again demolition scraps. This wood was Fir. I didn't realize it but Fir seems to have a lot of creosote in it. When burned the creosote turns into black soot. That is the exact reason pine and fir should not be burned in a fireplace. The creosote builds up in the chimney and catches fire.

After I dismantled the Wall I moved the fire pit near the doors of my aluminum shed. By leaving the doors open and burning in the fire pit the shed stayed warm, even during one of the coldest winters we have had in years. But an odd thing happened. I noticed the white interior of the shed started turning black. Very black. It seems that I was also breathing the creosote because after a fall in the shed January 2nd what I thought was a common cold developed into pneumonia. The fall had caused a torn rotator cuff and was very painful. I had trouble sleeping and spent much time laying on the couch, probably helping my lungs fill with fluid.

Word soon spread of my need for firewood and I would get tips about a good supply here and there. Stacy and Sid were always on the lookout for me and would let me in on a new source of wood. After one of her tips I actually showed up before the homeowner had his scrap fence poles on the curb. He even cut it to manageable lengths for me. I learned the guy's name was John and we talked about his beautiful baby blue 1958 Kaiser sitting in the driveway.

Even during the pneumonia I managed to get out to the shed and found a new source of green oak from my neighbor Robbie. The severe winter had also felled trees and branches along the Island roads and I wrangled them with a rope then dragged them home with the trusty 'Babe'. Some of the trees and limbs were 20 to 30 feet long. As you can imagine I got some funny looks from people who saw me 'logging' with the Taurus.

While driving over the Causeway I noticed some large logs that had washed up on the beach. Further inspection of them revealed they were beautiful pieces of driftwood. Each was nearly 4 feet long and were once one piece of wood. The trunk of a tree had split in half, down the center and had managed to wash up on the same shore, just feet apart. The two pieces fit together perfectly. They now stand, much like bookends on the sides of our front stairs.
Somewhere between the time I found the driftwoods and finding some deck planks washed up on the opposite side of the causeway (the planks and a pallet from the local Snap On Tool guy were used to make a garbage can corral to keep out raccoons) I realized that I had an obsession with gathering wood.

I wonder if it's something primal in me or just some kind of Yankee thrift. I have been able to line the walls of my shed with OSB and replaced the aging aluminum doors with some very nice vintage doors so not all the wood has been used for fire. I saw oil filled electric radiator heaters for $19 at Walmart. An electric heater would be more convenient. But will the electric heat be as good as a crackling fire? Probably not but I wouldn't be breathing creosote any more either. It just might be too hard for me to pass by a good pile of wood without snagging a trunk full.

Rats!

2009-03-31T05:58:00.000-07:00

Charlie Brown used to say it when he was frustrated. "Good grief" was another of his exclamations that some may use while reading this.

You see I recently acquired two rodents. Rats. Cute little black and white baby rats. That was the listing on the NewBedford Freecycle forum. Freecycle was started so that people could post items they no longer needed and wished to give away. By offering these items they won't end up in landfills. A noble idea, indeed. With the 11 baby rats offered, the owners hoped their son's pets wouldn't end up as snake food. It seems they bought one female and when she was brought home...surprise. Quite a bargain.

I went to the peoples home to get a pair of rattus rattus for pets. I thought they would be a great addition to the 'Man Cave', the name given to my shed by my sister, Lianne. So they were destined to become garage rats. They have settled into the wood shaving litter lined 30 gallon aquarium and survived below freezing nights, huddled together in their newspaper strip nest.

I seem to be the only admirer so far. Grace from next door wasn't interested at a peek at one when I brought it out to the fence separating our back yards. "Don't let that thing go!" was about all I can remember from the conversation. Even my cat Willy took one look at the aquarium and ran out of the shed. "Fine hunter you are" I thought as Willy disappeared over the horizon. Now, my cat real is a ferocious stalker. He has brought close to a dozen mice and two moles over last year. He brought home and dismembered several birds, one of them in my bedroom. Feathers still turn up every once and a while. Other items dragged home were a good sized snake skin, without the snake, and 3 or four squirrel legs with the tails attached. I assume coyotes caught the squirrels and were just too full to finish the 4th leg and tail. In a sudden fit of genius, one day I attached a tail and leg combo to my sisters Jeep Liberty's antenna using a clothespin. I watched the Jeep pull out of the driveway and disappear. "Hmm, I guess she didn't notice," I thought. About two minutes later the phone rang and threats of death filled my ear when I answered. It was worth it. Too bad it fell off somewhere on Sconticut Neck road.

Back to the rats. Hopefully my two rats will not end up a dozen, I was assured they were both girls. Honestly, I can't tell if they are or not. I haven't even tried. Not interested.

Oh, their names you ask. Thelma and Louise. Thelma is the cuter one.

Island LIfe

2009-03-30T14:16:00.000-07:00

Most of this blogs followers know that I live on west Island in Fairhaven, MA. Not everyone my realize what "Island Life" is like. For most of life I have thought that life here was basically the same as most other places, with a lot of extras thrown in of course. Most of my youth was spent exploring and building forts in the 600 or so acres of woods on the island. The rest was probably spent on the beaches or in the water. We used to make rafts out of pallets and foam. Not the safest mode of sea travel, but when your young you tend to throw caution to the wind, or waves.

Recently though I think I have redefined "Island Life". I never considered living here to be similar to some Caribbean island, or even to the better know Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket islands. After last year I began to rethink that idea. There is some similarity to a Caribbean island, if you want it to be. We can spend lazy days down at Shirley and Herbie's beach. There seems to be a mythical concoction called a "Yellow Bird", but I have yet to taste such an elixir. Maybe I was actually afraid of the stories I have heard that the effects of pitchers of the drink render onto otherwise quiet individuals. I have passed that fear now and am ready for my indoctrination to the yellow haze.

After an afternoon at the beach I like to head to the bridge, yes we have one, where if tide allows I can do some fishing. I only caught 2 fish last year but hanging at the bridge is a great spot to watch the sunsets, watch everybody come and go on the island and drink some beer. What more can you want?

One day a short while ago we were sitting on a sea wall on the west side of the island and headed to the forested east side to check out the infamous Paint Ball Fort. The area had become somewhat overgrown and we decided to make a sight line for the up and coming marksman (I'm not sure if markswoman is a word) Mackenzie Martin who at 12 years old is competing and surpassing 18 year olds.

After checking out the unidentified (probably a raccoon or opossum) skull hanging on a branch at the location we decided to head to the middle of the island and check out what may be an Indian grave or maybe just a spot designated as the geographical center of the island. We followed the path to a southerly portion of the forest and walked back by Fir St.

A new phenomenon is the quiet hum of golf carts. The damn things are everywhere! I have stopped complaining and have starting looking on craigslist for the non-existent cheap golf cart. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

On any given summer weekend you can walk around and spot two dozen parties, and is your good at it you just may get invited in. The campfires a dead giveaway. Just start north and head into the south wind searching for the smell of wood burning. I have often said that the Fourth of July here is like downtown Baghdad during the Gulf War. Fireworks can be seen in a 360 degree view from the Causeway. Mattaposett, New Bedford, Dartmouth and a bazillion different backyard displays can be seen. The smell of gunpowder hangs so heavy in the air all over town it actually causes a yellow glow from the grocery store parking lot lights in the center of Fairhaven. I pack a 5 liter box of wine (Mountain Burgundy!) and cups and keep moving around as long as I can. A stop at the Pilat's party where they have a band is mandatory.

People down here are friendly and love to talk. I always seem to fit "How long have you lived here?" into every conversation with new friends. Those who live on Sconticut Neck,including Islanders, are known as Neckers. The amount of time you have been a "Necker" is like a social order. Lying is encouraged. Remembering events and places or people long gone adds a ton of points.

I have vowed to enjoy Island Life more this year, after all, it is OUR island!

Life..and Death

2008-10-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

This one's not amusing. It's not cheery, but it's real.

A little more than 2 weeks ago a friend said his son had found a pair of kittens. They were newborns, eyes closed, barely able to move. For some reason they were covered with flies and fly larvae, maggots. Maybe their mother was injured or just didn't have the instinct to clean them and nurse them after birth, it's not known.

One was a beautiful grey color with a little white bib. In fact that color grey is fairly rare. I wanted him.The other was a white with black spots. If you squinted and turned it sideways you could see a Halloween cat with it's back arched. Sort of. He had a white chin and blaze on his forehead. I think that's what a stripe on the front of the head is called.
His ears were black on the outside and white inside.

Dave's step daughter Kim is a graduate of Bristol Agricultural school and knew just how to care for the tiny orphans. They were about big as a hamster, but they had proportionately large heads. Kim got kitten formula and a tiny baby bottle from Walmart and cleaned them up as best as she could. It's touch and go with kittens this little, without their mothers milk which contains colostrum they don't have the antibodies to fight disease and infection.
The grey one had been badly affected by the fly larvae. They had burrowed into one of his ears and created an infection. The white on was a screamer and seemed stronger. When the two of them started crying, you knew it. One article on raising kittens said, "A litter of kittens will sound like a band of tiny trumpets." The author was fairly accurate.

A couple of days after seeing the kittens I ran into Dave and Dee and they told me the grey had died. The ear infection was just too far advanced for the little guy to fight. Before anyone criticises them for not taking the kittens to a vet let me say that they have rescued more than 20 kittens and raised them or found homes for them. Our own Max was one of the most beautiful cats I have ever seen, off white with ghost tiger stripes and a ringed tail and blue, blue eyes. One of a pair of twins found seperately, strangely enough.

The next day I got a call from Lianne who said Kim wanted me to have the white one. I was ecstatic. I went right over and came home with a Pampers box lined with baby blankets, a carton of formula and the bottle and own tiny little trumpeter. "Meeeee, meee, meeeee!" he seemed to cry. Kim said they called him "Flower", like the skunk from Bambi. He did look like a skunk, the little stinker. I recalled that I had said to my sister that I'd like a black and white cat. That was about a month before. Better watch what you wish for!

Kittens open their eyes at 7-10 days, unless they are long haired, which means 10-14 days. A kittens eyes are always blue when they open. Although they haven't formed a pupil, so it still takes a few days more for their eyesight to begin. This one didn't open his eyes until 4 days after getting him, and he was a long hair. So he was less than 10 days old when I got the little critter. One oddity about this kitten was his front paws, the were relatively large and long. Not double pawed, though. Kind of like a monkey paw. Cute...and creepy at the same time.

The little guy would sleep 4-8 hours and wake up crying. About an ounce of warm formula would solve that. Somewhere along I decided that his name was Gus. Gusto. Gussie. Augusto. Yeah, sounds good.

The 1 year old cat we have now is named Will. He would sit out on the gas grill in the winter and shiver, but he wanted to stay out with Max whose thick white fur was fine for the cold. Chilly Willy just fit for him. Willy. G.Willy Chill. Willby. Mr. Willouhby. Will B. Rightback. OK, enough of the nicknames. But I thought yelling out the door "Willy! Gus!", sounded better than Flower. To each his own.

Gus was thriving by the 2nd week here. His ears finally stood up, another benchmark in a kittens development I learned. When he fed on the bottle his ears would wiggle back and forth. A sure sign he was getting formula. After feeding he needed to be burped. Really! Imagine burping a big headed hamster. As you place the kitten on your shoulder you hear tiny bubbles coming up, then a teeny, tiny burp. Then he purrs. As you hold him in your hands he turns over, so you can scratch his belly I thought. Actually he needs to have his genitals stimulated so that he can pee and poop.

Gus learned to walk in short time. He'd walk, or waddle all over the living room, exploring.

Thor, our miniature Fox Terrier seemed to like him. He was about the size of a squeaky toy, and made the same noise too.

Will wanted nothing to do with the newcomer. He would sniff at him and howl disapprovingly and walk off somewhere. We can work on that I thought.

About Friday, just under two weeks of being here and when Gus hit 3 weeks old, he developed a slight cough. I thought he had swallowed his formula wrong. Something to keep and eye on I thought. Around that time Gus was strong enough to crawl out of the Pampers box. Imagine the fat little kitten making his way over the box wall and climbing up the comforter, into my bed and finding my ear to scream directly into it. "Meeeee.Meeeee!" OK, it's only 4 a.m. Time to eat. Nothing seemed to keep him in the box after that. Books placed over the box were no match for little Gus. He'd defeat every roadblock I devised. Finally it was apparent that he needed bigger digs. A moving box!

The moving box kept him in his place but without the books he ended up on top of the blankets. He wasn't getting the warmth he needed. His cough got worse and Sunday morning I found him cold and limp. I picked his lifeless body up and stroked his tiny head. Those cute little ears that wiggled when he ate. But wait, his ear moved. I could hear a faint heartbeat as I held him to my ear.

I brought Gus into my bed, under the covers and held him in my hands, stroking his chest and gently blowing my warm breath over him. Eventually his monkey paws started to move, and an occasional gasp with a kick of his back legs gave me hope. Over the next two hours Gus eventually gained his steam and was fighting himself back to life. A tiny amount of warm formula got his belly warmer. Gus is a fighter!

He bounced back stronger than ever, but the cough persisted. He definitely needed antibiotics. His nose was starting to show discharge. I was afraid of dehydration and tried giving him warm water in the bottle, but he wanted none of that and shrieked at me for the real thing. He never noticed that I watered the formula a bit and we both felt better.
Monday morning I called Capeway Veterinary hospital and couldn't get in until Tuesday afternoon. "One more day," I thought, "easy beans."

Tuesday morning I woke up to find Gus cold again. This was worse though. His gasps were infrequent. I got a heating pad and wrapped a blanket over it with Gus on top. I stroked his little head and chest but the signs of hope I got last time never appeared. After 2 hours it was apparent Gus had died.

It was all very clinical. I covered him up and placed his body in his Pampers box. I shut off the fan that I had placed next to his box to keep a familiar hum near him. Like the mothers heartbeat. But I was supposed to be the mother. He lit up when I held him, he'd struggle to climb up my arm and sit on my shoulder and purr in my ear until it tickled too much to bear any longer. Kittens faces are almost flat when they're born. Their noses are there but the bridge of their nose, the snout is flat. Kind of an alien look with those big blank eyes.

For 2 weeks I had wondered if he would be ugly or beautiful. The black on his face seemed too uneven. Symmetry. That was lacking. Humans perceive facial beauty in symmetry. If a person's eyes are uneven or too close or too far apart one is less likely to be seen as beautiful. Most of the other facial features apply. Big nose, small lips, etc.

On Sunday I had decided that he was beautiful. No matter what he looked like. If my presence made him so happy that he wanted to purr in my ear, he was beautiful to me.

I had never liked cats, until a few years ago when I realized that cats liked me. Those cats that usually disliked strangers seemed attracted to me. I don't know why. Animal magnetism?

Some guy at Stop and Shop was stocking the shelves in the cat food aisle when he saw me trying to get the "right' can of food for Willy. He laughed and said, "It always suprises me to see you big tough looking guys buying cat food. Well, I was glad to be percieved as tough, it must have been my black jeans and Hot Rod T-shirt.

We lost 2 of our cats to coyote attacks in the spring. There have been more than 16 lost in a 3 block area. Max, the 1 year old beauty king and Scoop, my 8 year old female. Losing them was terrible, but I never felt like crying. Three week old Gus has me crying. I can't remember the last time I cried. Ten or fifteen years ago, maybe.

I guess it all just built up. I didn't start tearing up until I wrote this piece. Now I can barely see the keyboard. And it seems to be getting worse. I hate it when I lose control over that lower lip, it's the giveaway you're cracking.

I hope this wasn't too long and depressing. I just needed to write it.
Thanks for reading.

Ship Happens!

2008-09-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well here's one for the books. Last Friday night I was sitting in the backyard, having a little fire in the backyard kettle when I got a call to go by a larger fire at a friends house. I was on what I thought was to be my last beer and my intent was to go in and get ready for the night.
Well, as I was explaining my intentions the caller hung up on me after declaring,"Every party has it's pooper and you're this one's."

I didn't mind being hung up on, but getting called a party pooper was just too much to bear. So I banked the fire and grabbed myself another beer and walked on down Littleneck St.
When I got there, there were 3 other people and a nice warm fire. Within a few minutes 4 more people arrived and slightly later, one or two more. In a short time we had about 10 people sitting in a nice ring around Sid's fire pit, well on the way to a good conversation.
As I was grilling John, sitting to my right, about the finer points of his being an extra in the Providence Irish Mafia based TV series "Brotherhood", someone asked what's that out in the water?

There was a light, apparently atop a boats mast, along with a bow light. I suggested it was a sailboat that was getting awfully close to the shore. In fact there is a sand bar and ledge that extends out in the area. Within seconds someone else stated that the sailboat was in actually a sport fishing boat. Within seconds of that, I said it looked like a 90 foot fishing boat. Suddenly the deck lights showed that it was indeed a very large boat within feet of the beach, about 500 feet south of us. They were practically in someones back yard, as beachfront rights go, of course.

Stacy ran down to the boat to see what the hell was going on. In a few minutes she came back and said "they don't know WHERE the hell they are." Shortly after that there were only 2 of us sitting at the fire, but we did see (but barely hear)the Martin's Prius go back and forth between the house and the beach 3 or 4 times.

Eventually some of the people who showed up at the beaching were Phil Lacerda of the Fairhaven Police, Beth David of the Fairhaven Neighborhood News and Eric Dawicki of Northeast Maritime Institute. Eric can be credited (and seen in the photo) with wading out waist deep and shouting instructions of how to free the Hilena M to the skipper of the boat, who by the way refused to throw down a ladder and from what I gather, spoke little English. Check out this Thursday's edition of the Neighborhood News for the real poop.

In these days of radar, depth finders and GPS, how the skipper of that boat missed the country's richest seafood producing port by a literal mile eludes my senses. Although it did happen before in 1932.
Never the less it provided a night of mild excitement and curiosity. In fact it spilled over to the next day. On Sunday afternoon Stacy 'rounded the troops, or should I say crew, for a New Bedford Harbor Boat Tour. Coincidentally, John who sat to my right at the campfire, was our boat's captain. John did a magnificent job, both piloting the craft in and about the fishing fleet docked at the various piers, despite my interruptions of useless information and questions. There was also an outbreak of 'International Talk Like A Pirate Day' leftovers.
Such as, "What's your favorite letter of the alphabet?"
"Arrrrrrr."
By the way I got to ride in Louise's Chrome Yellow Saturn convertible. A very nice ride with the top down on a sunny September Sunday. Thanks Louise!

The tour left from the wharfinger building on State Pier in New Bedford, where we parked our cars. The brick building is also the original home of the New Bedford Seafood Display Auction, which has been recently reintroduced. After the "3 hour tour...a thrrrree hourrrr tour", no it was more like an hour. As we were returning to the pier we went under Route 6, between Fish Island and the Crystal Ice building when John shouted, "Is that the Hilena M?" And lo and behold thar' the blue ship was!
All along the boat sat within eyesight and less than 100 feet from where we parked. Because it was berthed 4 deep at the pier we couldn't get close enough to place the "Neighborhood News" sticker Stacy had brought along. Several pictures were were taken of the stern and her name to prove our 'sleuthiness'.

2008-09-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

What A Wild Summer 08/23/2008

The Summer of 2008 will go down in my book as one for the records. The people, the weather and the price of gas all were meteoric in scope.
Let's start with gasoline. Pour it over the oil industry, light a match and start over. I thought antitrust laws were in place to avoid debacles like Standard Oil and the early railroad monopolies.
In early August I saw some financial analyst predicting that gas would get down to $3.50 gallon. I laughed...for about a week. But, damn, he was right. Now a drop of $.50 per should make people happy, and that was the plan, I suspect. But at the same time last year we were paying $2.50 a gallon. On the flip side I have seen lots of small fuel efficient cars around lately, including a couple of Smart Cars.

Enough of the gas sitchy-ashun, let's hit on the weather. Man, was there weather. Wonderfully warm, almost tropical breezes. And there seemed to be a breeze all through July and August. We had rain often, and heavy at times, but never one of those spells where you wonder if we're living in Venice. A tip of the hat to Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes for the Venice comment.
Although we had a few days of widespread flooding, at least no drought Of course in Fairhaven a "outdoor water usage ban" was in effect. That meant you could only water lawns and wash your car on your trash pickup day. A week later
As of this writing there had been no tropical storms, or worse, a hurricane. In July we had a historical weather event. A TORNADO touched down in New Hampshire. In August a water spout was seen in Padanaram Harbor in Dartmouth. One week later a microburst hit Acushnet. Very freaky.
But man, this is WEATHER!

It's been very interesting to watch. On the day of the microburst I was a friend's house, right on the beach on West Island and we could see the wall of water and 40 mph winds racing across Little Bay, frothing up the sea into white caps five miles away. Note to self, put rain poncho on inside the house, rather fighting with it in 40 mph winds. It was wayyy more difficult than donning a hospital johnnie.
On to friends. I have met more Island people this year than ever before, and I enjoyed meeting them all. Apologies to Sid, who's name is not Luke and Keith who is not Brian. Friends from my teen years on West Island, Stacy, Nancy, Linda, Glenn, Scott and the spark of an idea to reunite more of us stirred up great memories. I even saw a picture of myself before I earned my pot belly. Note that I said earned. You don't just get a pot belly, you have to earn it. I find it a useful for placing a drink on and it prevents stains from reaching your shoes, although you can rarely see you feet with it.

50s night

I happened onto the annual 50's night in New Bedford's downtown one Thursday night and was thrilled at my find.
Portions of Union St., Pleasant St. and normally a section of Acushnet Avenue are closed off to allow classic and muscle cars to be displayed. Because of the unpredictable weather this year, some of the near concourse car owners decided to keep them home. Driving a show quality car in the rain just doesn't fly. There were plenty of cars that were drivers there though, about 100. Along with the cars were of people strolling through the cordoned off streets among vendors of hamburgers, cacoila and linguica sandwiches, balloons and T-shirts.

One of the notable cars in attendance was a 1951 GMC ambulance with an original 50,000 miles and owned by the city of New Bedford. One of 3 ever made, the city police department got theirs in 1952. State of the art for the time there was one major oversight when the ambulance was ordered, the bumper height didn't match the dock height at Saint Luke's hospital. The truck was retired to the New Bedford Municipal Airport as a crash vehicle where it stayed until the 80's when it was retired to parades and car shows. It has it's original gurney, stretcher and extrication equipment which was basically wooden splints.
For more information on AHA! nights in downtown New Bedford check out the link.

2008-09-23T08:07:00.000-07:00

How to Drive Your Neighbor Nuts!(If you haven't already.)06/24/2008

For this article I'm going to call my across the street neighbor Dennis. That's because his real name is Dennis.
He'll like the notoriety.
Dennis keeps the best looking lawn in the neighborhood. That's because he's retired, quit drinking and has an Apple computer with AOL dial-up. So he has time to do things while the computer logs on. Like mow the lawn.
One particular week, for some reason, Dennis let the grass grow particularly long. He would normally mow it often, so that the clippings would not leave trail after the mower. This time the grass clippings were piling up after the riding mower like seaweed on the shore after a Sou'Easter.
As Dennis was piloting the mower around the back of the house I moseyed (I know how to mosey) in through the front gate of his neat white picket fence and sat on the side steps waiting for him to make it around the corner of the house to the front yard. Apparently I hadn't latched the gate and it was left in the open position. Just plain too lazy to mosey on back I left it.
As Dennis made his way to the front yard, along the fence, carefully watching how close he was to the fence, and monitoring his clippings trail he didn't even notice me on the stairs. He did see the open gate just in time to give it a little kick closed so the mower could slide on by. He made the next turn and roared into the back yard for another lap. Sitting there waiting for him to return to the homestretch I got an idea, I got up and opened the gate again.
After what seemed like an awfully long time (it's always an awfully long time when you're waiting for the payoff of a prank to happen) he finally made it back to the fence and as he neared the gate he gave it a double take and a snarl and gave it a swifter kick than before, made the turn to the back yard and still hadn't seen me on the stairs.
Well if something works good twice, three times has gotta' be the charm, so now buoyed by impish energy I got up off the stairs and opened the gate one more time.
Again Dennis came around the corner after what seemed an eternity, and cruised past the gate but this time he didn't give a kick.
That seemed to ruin the whole ploy. Until I got up and closed the gate. Curious as to his reaction this time, I waited on the stairs once more.
Again, he rounded the corner, neared the gate and I saw his gaze fixed on the gate and he stopped, staring at it. That's when I started laughing and moving about on the stairs and he finally saw me.
"I thought I was goin' crazy." he said, about the open- closed gate.
Dennis was the victim of another one of my pranks over a few days. His property has a large open yard next to the house with a workshop at the back of the yard. He backs his truck up to the shed to load and unload tools and materials there. To make it a little easier at night, Dennis bought some plastic orange reflectors on a stick to place in the ground to outline sort of driveway. Seeing this I gave him a few nights to get accustomed to backing in using them. Then I went over and moved them in a few inches closer one night. Then a few inches closer the next night. The third night I moved them several feet OUT.
The next morning when I looked out of the window I had forgotten about moving the reflectors but seeing Dennis' truck reminded me. Because he had gotten accustomed to them guiding him in the dark and me moving them outward they couldn't be see in his mirrors. The truck was parked nearly sideways in the middle of the field!
I ran into Dennis later in the day and asked if he had been drinking last night because of the way he had parked. Immediately he stiffened up and said, "Yeah, were you playing with my reflectors?"
Putting on my best confused look I asked "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, never mind", he said.
Later on I copped to the migrating reflector deal. Even though he was a little peeved he seemed relieved it wasn't just due to his driving skills.
I wonder what 2008 will bring?