Friends

There are times when seniors actually have fun. Life is not all about doctors' appointments and getting prescriptions filled. Some of us even drink alcoholic beverages - in moderation. Just enough to insure the next morning is something we can look forward to.

In my humble opinion, this is the best way to start off 2011.

Whoops - Forgot the Annual P-38 Post

Correcting a Grievous Error

My last post, which in essence said "Goodbye", contained a monumental error. I failed to follow though on my long held tradition of honoring the finest WWII airplane that had two engines - the Lockheed P-38 Lightening. I consider that error corrected.

Goodbye From Father Time

No Time Left For Blogging
For the past six months, It's been obvious there were not enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do. When I first retired I was immersed in reading and researching topics and areas of interest I had neglected during my working years. The more I learned the more I realized how little I really knew about things I considered important. Right now with a large home to care for, woodworking projects that never seem to reach the finished stage, Mount Jefferson calling me to come and visit again, and a changing world in general, I finally realized some activities were going to have to go by the wayside. Unfortunately, one of those activities is this blog.

Maybe But No Promises
I may return someday. If my health ever deteriorates to the point that I'm not able to do all this physical stuff, I will probably find my way back to "the place" and start writing here again. Right now this blog reminds me of a home that is half built and then abandoned. (I'm sure some would suggest that it's more like a chicken coup than a house!)

With that half-hearted promise and hat in hand, I'm going to grab my fly rod and head on down the road.

Time To Get Back Here

I know it has been awhile but spare time has been a luxury for the past six months. Things are a little more calm now and I should have some time to post a few things of interest to those who follow my chaotic life style.

See you soon!

Wherein Father Time Does Manual Labor Part 2

So I prevaricated
Yes, the workload was more than I expected and yes - today is not the tomorrow I promised in Part 1. Please send your Notice of intent to file a tort claim directly to me by e-mail. It will be dealt with accordingly.

The landscape designer arrives
Our co-conspirator on the yard project is an outstanding former horticulture professor at our local university. Upon his arrival we chatted for a few minutes about our ideas for the area which is dominated by a huge silver maple. The spot measures approximately 30'x30' and features some massive Anaconda-like roots (which are normal for the infamously shallow-rooted silver maple.)

Said landscape designer pulls out a 5-gallon pail for a stool and proceeds to sketch out, to scale, a plan featuring an amazing array of shade-tolerant, shallow-rooted plants. Examples - a strawberry tree, blue fescue, hostas, thyme, seddum, and several Latin named plants of mysterious origin.

When he left, I had a master plan and two weeks for implementation.

The root of the problem
The first order of business was digging out a pathway from one side to the other without encountering any mammoth roots. Mission accomplished? Nope! This root (partly visible in this picture) was right in the middle of the sweeping designer curve, so using landscaper terminology, it became a "natural feature." Isn't that special!

So where do we go from here?
Part 3 will feature our attempts at planting scrubs and flowers in the weed infested area. Be assured a good time will be had by all right after we're released from the hospital for heat exhaustion. Just kidding. I hope.

Wherein Father Time Does Manual Labor Part 1

The Set Up
In an earlier post I mentioned my daughter and her fiance are getting married in Father and Ms Time's backyard. Normally, that would be a great idea given that Oregon summers are usually warm and toasty, and contrary to populist myth, are usually rain free. So far, no problem.

The Problem
The area where they plan on making their grand entrance is adjacent to a much-neglected piece of land formerly landscaped with a water feature and a couple of rose bushes. Due to time constraints and my penchant for fishing and hiking, the area was covered in ivy with the water feature buried beneath, and is home to a variety of unsavory pests and reptiles. OK so they're not that bad - a garter snake, two salamanders, and some truly awesome slugs. Yuk!

At any rate, the ivy is now history, or it's at least gone underground, (Hah!) and all animal life transported to new digs in an empty field with a nice cool creek next door. So far so good.

Enter The Landscape Architect.
Those of you who can't tolerate tales from the crypt, or photographs of water boarding, or televised gall bladder operations, should stop reading now and move on to a blog describing Adolph Hitler's last hours. Father Time in his infinite wisdom (see previous post) hired a local landscape designer to share his thoughts on how we should proceed with our now bald and craterd land.

To be continued tomorrow. I promise. I need a beer.

Father Time Dinks Around With The Metaphysical

Time is not finite

Isn't that awesome? I read it in a book for intellectuals. While I was at our local library (the one run by Buddhists), I "borrowed" the book from a shelf marked "Intellectuals Only". It was written in bold gold Sanskrit surrounded by dragons. On second thought it might have been for "Ineffectuals Only" . Actually I'm not sure. My Sanskrit is a little rusty.

What I am sure of is it was printed in Sanskrit, a language in which I used to be relatively fluent. Sanskrit employs an unusual alphabet which makes it a difficult language to master. My mentor was a special forces Sergeant who taught foreign languages at Louisiana State University during the Korean conflict. It was a crash course intended to help us with master escape and evasion tactics if we were ever captured by Buddhist terrorists. There were hundreds of them in the swamps of Louisiana.

But I digress.

Time is an either or proposition

It doesn't get any better than this.

Take, for example, an automobile driving at 85 mph. Behind that car is another car poking along at 75 mph. The driver of the first car is happy knowing he's going to arrive at his destination ahead of the car behind. But the lapsed time difference between the two cars when they arrive at their common 25 mile destination is only 30 seconds.

The moral of this story? Both drivers broke the law and deserve to do time.

Is Father Time losing it?

Absolutely not. In fact, he's just found it!

The Blog Is Not Dead; The Proprietor Is Just Tired

Nothing more, nothing less. Facebook and Twitter may be better for communications but this is my toy and my place to play.

Enjoy!

The Music Critic's Corner

Ever heard Dilmon Ivory play the piano?

He is absolutely amazing. In fact, "amazing" is far too mild an adjective to describe Ivory's music. In fact, there are no words to adequately describe the way this man plays the piano.

For starters, let's break down his repertoire. He plays the music of one composer - Dilmon Ivory. It's as if there's an unrestricted flow of music from his brain to his hands. Nothing is written or planned in advance. He starts playing and the music ends when he's too tired to play anymore or that part of his brain that spawns (or maybe "regurgitates") the music finally runs out of gas.

Basically, there's no harmony or rhythm to be heard

Let's talk about the melodies incorporated into his compositions. There are none, absolutely none!

How about key and time signatures; what key is it written in and how many beats per measure? Zero, nada! None whatsoever.

So what do we have?

Technique. Unbelievable, unimaginable dexterity and speed.

When it comes to technique, he's on a par with great pianists like Rachmaninoff, Beethoven, Chopin, or Mozart. In every other category however, he couldn't water for them. He possesses no knowledge of composition or music theory. What he hears in his head he somehow transmits to his piano keys. Whether this is some kind of mental illness, or he just possesses a weird skill is open to question. No one to my knowledge has ever demonstrated this kind of unearthly ability; what he does is hard to classify. He just makes his fingers fly over the keys in ways that are impossible to describe.

All I can say is you need to hear it once. You'll never forget it!

WOW - Father Time In Hyperdrive Is Killer!

Putting on the brakes

My absence is not deliberate; maybe semi-deliberate is more accurate. I keep forgetting to put make sure to update my blog on my priority list. More accurately, I consider finding my priority list the #1 item on my priority list. Yes, I know that makes no sense unless you're Father Time. But hey! Retirement is about living life at a less hectic pace, right? For example, priority lists are not shown as an ingredient in relaxation recipes. Go to the Food Network web site and look it up. I kid you not!

Other stuff for relatives and friends

[If you're looking at this blog for the first time, pass on this part. It will make no sense whatsoever.] As if it ever did!

Item #1 - Daughter and prospective son-in-law have decided that fiscal conservatism makes more sense than spending money foolishly. Note to Fly. This is not a capitulation or subscription to your wayward political views in any way shape or form. It's just another use for the word "conservatism." You can stop jumping up and down on your Cabela camouflage camping stool now.

So the marriage in Las Vegas, and the honeymoon in Jamaica have been canceled. The new plan is having the wedding and reception at Father and Ms. Time's palatial estate. Note to those who've visited my home before - "palatial" is a classic example of the concept of "using inappropriate bogus adjectives to cover feelings of inadequacy." See Freud's Gone With The Wind, Chapter 13, Par. 12, Line 11.

And there we have it!

So, in one short post, the latest chapter in the life of Father Time. In our next post, we cover item #2 - "Father Time converts the back yard from a forest to an idyllic sight for a wedding." It should be great and will probably be written from a hospital bed using my laptop!

Checking In

Pant, pant!
I have reached a point in my life where every day is a whirlwind of activity and it HAS to cease!

Fellow retirees have warned me that energy sapping stress replaces fun when one lives a "hurry-hurry rush-rush" focused lifestyle. Being arrogant by nature, I ignored their warnings.

What a horrific price to pay for being bull-headed!

So?
As of April 1st - and that's not a joke - I'm restructuring my life so that more time becomes available for me to do the things I enjoy, like fly-fishing, backpacking, woodworking, reading, and cooking.

Accordingly, some activities will disappear from my life. Sadly, one will be my board role for our local developmentally disabled housing non-profit. My conscience bothered me when I first made this decision, but looking back over almost 35 years of non-profit boards, I feel I've earned a break. Secondly, my Hospice volunteer role will be limited to only one client at a time. Refer to the third sentence in this paragraph for my feelings on that!

And what will I do with all that time?
Well, let's talk fun! For instance, I added a enjoyable task to my To Do list - getting the back forty ready for our daughter's wedding reception in early September. Now that's something I will take on gladly. And as a side benefit, it will feel great to work my butt off while simultaneously getting these old bones in shape for some awesome fall backpacks.

Plus, a hidden benefit is buried in the whole package. For my birthday in about six weeks, I've dropped about a hundred hints on why I need a new small, light-weight camera. It will take great "wedding reception" pictures (and even better backpacking shots.)

Who knows? I may even get a pic or two of some trout to torment my relatives in Michigan and friends in Las Vegas. Yummy, fresh caught, and cooked over an open fire with a little butter and wild onions.

Wouldn't that be evil? Heh, heh!

Souper Sunday aka how to avoid rainy day cabin fever

Goal - to develop a group project to help mitigate the rainy day blues

In Oregon, when you've spent many hours watching it rain, your brain starts to gather moss and get all mushy. As a potential antidote, Father Time's friends have come up with a partial solution to challenge.

Ingredients

Every other Sunday evening we gather with three other couples for Souper Sunday. Since it's dinner time, the host prepares some sort of hearty soup. Since this a really informal affair, I.E., using everyday china and low-cost wines, the menu is deliberately kept simple - soup, a salad, rustic bread, and dessert. No frills, no fancy finger foods, and really disgusting manners after the third glass of wine.

The Result

Bottom line (after all I'm a retired banker) - a great Sunday, a nice way to wrap up the weekend, and minimal discussion of the weather. On the negative side of the coin however, is discussion of the current economy. Typically, someone requests a nice cordial to wrap up the evening and suddenly the economy unimportant until Monday morning's CNBC news.

Not bad. Not bad at all!

Too Fast, Too Slow, or Just Lazy?

The Usual Lame Excuses

To say that things have been crazy around here is an understatement. The good news is that I've not encountered some devastating disease or horrible impairment. The reality is I've been overloaded with a huge "to do" list (of my own making) that covers everything from simple errands to a renovating of my back yard so it looks "mature" in time for my daughter's wedding. In between are the usual Hospice patients and some non-profit board activity. Backpacking? Someday maybe.

So those are my excuses. Let it not be said that I can't be creative under pressure. Maybe I should have been a litigator.

So Now What?

I'll have some pictures of (1) the recent flood devastation in the state of Washington, (2) the destruction of my well-engineered deer fence after it was attacked (wrecked?) by some hungry apple-seeking deer, and (3) the wreckage at the back of my property after the BPA removed some fir trees that were endangering (their word, not mine) their 200 foot high power lines on the adjoining neighbor's property.

Anyone want some fire wood?

The Plan For 2009

Phantom Father Time

It's been a while since my last post, but worry not my friends. A huge amount of cognitive restructuring has been occurring upstairs and creating enough heat to keep downstairs comfortable. I'm becoming a self-contained heat pump. That's energy efficiency in action!

Notice I'm thinking green this year? A new administration calls for a new approach to viewing the future. Like any good citizen, I'm forging ahead with positive intentions. (Let's not tarry long in this vein since logically I should follow that comment with a political opinion, and as we all know, that would result in the death of a perfectly good blog.)

If the shoe fits, wear it!

And Now The Plan

First, let's catalog everything that's on the list:

1.) Finish the media room. Isn't it fun what you can do with your house when all the kids have moved out?

2.) Celebrate my 70th birthday on May 1st. Seems like it popped up 20 years too soon!

3.) Turn my long-delayed backpacking trip to Mount Jefferson into reality. If the snow melts in a timely manner, this should happen in late May.

4.) Whip the back forty into shape for the next item on the list.

5.) Celebrate my daughter's marriage with an Autumn reception to be held in our back yard. Now this will be almost as much fun as the Mount Jefferson trip! (Am I in trouble here?)

6.) Start the planning for Phase II of the kitchen remodel.

7.) Build a Shaker end table for a friend.

8.) Add cabinets in my workshop to help control the creeping blight of tools, sawdust, and wood in waiting.

9.) Enjoy watching the stock market turn around in the 4th quarter.

10.) Get my bi-annual physical followed by reading two books on Eastern Philosophy. This is one item I semi-dread.

Disclaimer

This list can be modified at any time since I'm in the unique position of having 50% of my life under control.

Father Time Gets Busted

Here's To Honesty In Journalism
In an earlier post entitled Father Time Needs A Break I intimated (in a light-hearted way - hint hint), that a rat's nest of tangled lights constituted my holiday lighting endeavors.

Unbelievably, one of my neighbors surfaced as a closet reader of my blog and chided me for my less-than-honest approach! So, for those who live some distance from me, and in the interest of full disclosure and compliance with obscure Federal laws known only to unemployed attorneys, I am forced to reveal to the world that my Scrooge disguise is bogus, and deep inside Father Time resides a small child who lives for the Holidays!

Extra Added Bonus!
For those in Michigan, Florida, Nevada, New Mexico, and Virginia, please note the abundance of snow. For the Michigan crowd, the little dribble of snow should cause you to erupt in gales of laughter. (I can hear you now; "And you call THAT snow?") Ok, so it isn't 10 feet deep. It isn't even 10 inches deep. Since I'm posting this as an act of contrition, I truthfully confess that 3" shuts down everything around here and is considered a major catastrophe. Therefore, please send me MRE's this year.

But that's a story for another time (when my neighbor is on vacation.)

Wisdom For The Holidays

Vegetarians, and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans ... are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit. - Anthony Bourdain

This is sure to win me some friends.

Happy Holidays!

Father Time Needs A Break

Finally got the Christmas lights up! What a chore. I'm cold, exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. Time to go inside and take care of all those issues while I wait for neighbors to come by and compliment my creativity and hard work.

It's not easy being me.

Football As War

A Duck or A Dog?

Here's a great shot of an avid football fan. So what's with the school sweater?
Somehow, the marriage of Thanksgiving and football is something I remember from my high school days in Flint, Michigan when Central played Northern on Thanksgiving Day. This turned out to be a classic "good news-bad news" situation. I would return home after the game frozen solid. The good news - I could thaw out with turkey, dressing, cranberry jelly and tons of other good stuff. Not a bad deal when you are a starving teen but now, in retrospect, it was a weird combination of two completely different events. Since Flint now has several high schools, I'm sure this tradition is long gone but back then, weird or not, it was a big deal.

The Tradition (off by two days) Continues

Following a custom that dates back to 1894, University of Oregon played Oregon State University in football last night. This annual event is referred to locally as the Civil War. I'm sure it makes sense to some people, but the fact that the two schools are 40 miles apart, causes me to question the choice of nickname. There is no North and South, no Rebel or Union soldiers; just Ducks and Beavers. Oh well!

The final score of this year's game was 65-38 in favor of University of Oregon. The loss knocked Oregon State out of a sure Rose Bowl date, and added to the enmity between the die-hard believers. My take on the whole thing? Go Wolverines! Wait until next year!

This post dedicated to all those who live in other states but graduated from Oregon State University!

Happy Thanksgiving To My Family & Friends

Yes, this is last year's picture of a perfectly done turkey. Time is scarce this year for Google searches and picture taking so we'll just have to be content with last year's bird!

To everyone, have a great Thanksgiving! If you're at Father Time's house or spending the day elsewhere around the globe, the sentiment here is just the same.

May your day be joyful, your food hot, and your emotional state "gently" warm.

One Dad Story Leads To Another

Painting A Sign On An Airplane

In my last post I noted that my Father, who worked for GM, supplemented our family income by painting signs on weekends. Usually, he painted windows for businesses having sales, or gold leaf signs on doors of doctors and dentists, or a delivery truck touting the virtues of some business. Since I was young and restless, and to give my Mom a break, Dad would let me accompany him on his sign-painting trips and be his "gofer". That meant I got to sit around a lot but do the dirty work when needed.

Once, much to my delight, he was asked to go to the local airport and paint the name of a doctor friend of our family on the side of his Beechcraft Bonanza. The plane was unique back then for its unusual tail configuration - a "V" design that was a first in the recreational aircraft field.

The day in question was windy; not a good thing for an lightweight aircraft sitting outdoors. To help anchor it, the doctor heaped some sandbags on the co-pilot's side and asked me if I would mind sitting in the pilot's seat for some extra weight. To me, that was a dream come true! I had to sit in the pilot's seat by myself for about an hour.

So, what does a seven year old boy do in a real airplane while sitting in the pilot's seat?

Let's see.

For starters, I single handedly destroyed all of the enemies of the United States with a series of strategically planned bombing runs. Having tasted blood, I then flew spy missions over New York City looking for Mafia types. Spotting them easily from the air, I would swoop in and shoot them down with with a cleverly concealed .22 caliber pistol I always carried in my shirt pocket for just such an occasion. In particular, I was looking for any bad guys who might be holding June Allison as a hostage, taking them down without mercy and then delivering June to the local deputy sheriff who was in charge of Hollywood Star Hostage Detail.

And finally, as my coup de grâce, I spotted the Frankenstein while flying over Chicago. We engaged in a vicious gun fight - he from his castle, and me from the Beechcraft Bonanza. Luckily, I defeated him and flew back to the airport to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor which surprisingly was presented to me by June Allison.

As I stepped out, exhausted from all that imagineering, my Dad smiled and asked if I had enjoyed myself.

"Enjoy myself? Are you kidding? By the way, I'm dieing of hunger. Can we go get a Coney Island Hot Dog."

Mission accomplished!