The Foundry Flourishes!

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

Back to Nokatay Pages
http://home.comcast.net/~nokatay/main.htm

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!

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

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!