Donald Rogers
Oct. 19, 2015
Driving Across Nevada
Driving across Nevada is good practice for life.
Three years ago I-5 was blocked at Wells, NV, and we were forced to turn back to Wendover on a rainy night, then turned south for about 100 miles, turned back northwest through Secret Pass to intersect I-5 at Halleck. We got home about four hours late.
Two years ago we were stopped 25 miles north of Las Vegas by a flash flood across Hwy 95. We turned around, went forty miles back the way we came, turned west on Hwy 160 through Pahrump, NV, and came around Mt Charleston on the south side on Blue Diamond Rd. We got in about two hours late.
Today we were stopped at Beatty, NV, and told all roads through Lathrop Wells were blocked by deep water and there was no alternate route in Nevada for at least a day. I asked about Death Valley, but he couldn’t tell me what was happening there except all of southern California and Nevada have been deluged with major thunderstorms and flooding for two days.
So it looked like a good day to see Death Valley to me. I consulted with some of the other stranded drivers and we decided to go for it. I had a full tank of gas, enough food and drink for a week and we were looking for adventure anyway.
We had a beautiful trip through Death Valley. It was only 91ยบ at 3:00 PM in the afternoon at Furnace Creek, and we only had to ford shallow water half a dozen times on State Line Road just south of Death Valley Junction. We got in to our room about three hours late this time.
Life seldom goes exactly the way we planned it, but the detours can be more fun than we expected.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Shoes
Donald Rogers
October 27, 2015
Shoes
How my life has been ruled by shoes.
My wife and I have decided to tear out the carpet in this house, and replace it with laminate flooring, which is not too expensive and looks great. I wish I had done it years ago when my wife was suffering with pulmonary problems and asthma, and spending a lot of time breathing inhalers and nebulizers trying to get back to breathing easily again. She first started having breathing difficulties after we bought new carpet for the front room years ago. I wish I had been more observant and noticed the connection then.
Since we replaced the carpet with laminate flooring a year ago in the front rooms, she has not had to use the inhaler or nebulizer at all, so we are going to do the back bedrooms now. This entails a lot of work moving furniture out and emptying the room so we can rip up the carpet, pull out the nails and tacks, and sand the floor down smooth.
The hardest part for me seems to be the shoes. Back in a corner of the bedroom was a pile of shoes gathering dust, most of which hadn’t been worn in years. I must have some kind of obsession, because it causes me anxiety to contemplate throwing out shoes that still have some wear left in them.
I suspect that Imelda Marcos and I have the same obsession. (When she and her husband were driven out of Manila by a revolution, thousands of pairs of Imelda's shoes were found in the presidential palace). I’m pretty sure we share very little genetic material. I’m not that familiar with Imelda’s childhood, but I’ll bet she was not raised rich enough to have new shoes for the asking, at least not until she got older and married into wealth. I was raised by my mother after my dad left the family, and for several years in my childhood shoes were a scarce and luxurious commodity.
I remember going to school with holes in the soles of my shoes, which I covered with cereal box cardboard insoles every day so my feet would not actually be walking on the ground. Luckily I lived in central California, and the weather was never cold enough to worry about frozen feet.
I also remember the soles would come loose from the tops out in front of my toes, and trying to lift my feet a little higher so that the sole wouldn’t catch and fold back under my foot. It wasn’t just the discomfort that I worried about, but the idea that some other person would see that and know how worn out my shoes were. I remember the embarrassment of being asked about the loose sole once, and trying to make light of it by explaining it worked well for scooping up coins from the sidewalk.
One time my great uncle Roy took me downtown to a “surplus” store where people took used clothing for poorer people to rummage through. It was similar to a Goodwill or Salvation Army store, but I don’t remember any prices—I think you just took it away if you liked it. It was on 16th Street in Merced, CA, which was “Skid Row” then, before the freeway went through. All those bars and flophouses are parking lots now.
Anyway, under one of the rude wooden tables where the clothing was laid, was a pile of shoes of all sizes and styles, most of which were for adults and were much too large for me. But as I crawled around under the table, I found a pair of shoes, “tennis” shoes, sort of, with laces from the toe to the top, ankle high, that not only fit, they were barely worn. Most wondrous of all, instead of being made from canvas, which would wear out quickly, they were completely leather! I’ve never seen any like them, before or since.
I stayed under the table putting on those shoes because I wanted to make sure that they would be mine and nobody could take them away. I emerged with the old, decrepit shoes in my hand, looking for a trash can. Uncle Roy looked just as surprised as I did when he saw those shoes. We both left very happy and satisfied.
For many months thereafter I wore those shoes everywhere. Not only to school, but to church, too! They outlasted any other shoe I had ever worn—especially the ones we bought at Karl’s Shoe Store, which my mother swore were made of cardboard instead of leather.
So when I look at that pile of old shoes in the corner of my bedroom, still with intact soles and no holes in the bottom, I just have a terrible time throwing them away, even though they may be scuffed and misshapen. I think to myself, out here on the farm nobody will notice if I use them again, even though I never do.
Not many people will understand my obsession. Just me and Imelda.
October 27, 2015
Shoes
How my life has been ruled by shoes.
My wife and I have decided to tear out the carpet in this house, and replace it with laminate flooring, which is not too expensive and looks great. I wish I had done it years ago when my wife was suffering with pulmonary problems and asthma, and spending a lot of time breathing inhalers and nebulizers trying to get back to breathing easily again. She first started having breathing difficulties after we bought new carpet for the front room years ago. I wish I had been more observant and noticed the connection then.
Since we replaced the carpet with laminate flooring a year ago in the front rooms, she has not had to use the inhaler or nebulizer at all, so we are going to do the back bedrooms now. This entails a lot of work moving furniture out and emptying the room so we can rip up the carpet, pull out the nails and tacks, and sand the floor down smooth.
The hardest part for me seems to be the shoes. Back in a corner of the bedroom was a pile of shoes gathering dust, most of which hadn’t been worn in years. I must have some kind of obsession, because it causes me anxiety to contemplate throwing out shoes that still have some wear left in them.
I suspect that Imelda Marcos and I have the same obsession. (When she and her husband were driven out of Manila by a revolution, thousands of pairs of Imelda's shoes were found in the presidential palace). I’m pretty sure we share very little genetic material. I’m not that familiar with Imelda’s childhood, but I’ll bet she was not raised rich enough to have new shoes for the asking, at least not until she got older and married into wealth. I was raised by my mother after my dad left the family, and for several years in my childhood shoes were a scarce and luxurious commodity.
I remember going to school with holes in the soles of my shoes, which I covered with cereal box cardboard insoles every day so my feet would not actually be walking on the ground. Luckily I lived in central California, and the weather was never cold enough to worry about frozen feet.
I also remember the soles would come loose from the tops out in front of my toes, and trying to lift my feet a little higher so that the sole wouldn’t catch and fold back under my foot. It wasn’t just the discomfort that I worried about, but the idea that some other person would see that and know how worn out my shoes were. I remember the embarrassment of being asked about the loose sole once, and trying to make light of it by explaining it worked well for scooping up coins from the sidewalk.
One time my great uncle Roy took me downtown to a “surplus” store where people took used clothing for poorer people to rummage through. It was similar to a Goodwill or Salvation Army store, but I don’t remember any prices—I think you just took it away if you liked it. It was on 16th Street in Merced, CA, which was “Skid Row” then, before the freeway went through. All those bars and flophouses are parking lots now.
Anyway, under one of the rude wooden tables where the clothing was laid, was a pile of shoes of all sizes and styles, most of which were for adults and were much too large for me. But as I crawled around under the table, I found a pair of shoes, “tennis” shoes, sort of, with laces from the toe to the top, ankle high, that not only fit, they were barely worn. Most wondrous of all, instead of being made from canvas, which would wear out quickly, they were completely leather! I’ve never seen any like them, before or since.
I stayed under the table putting on those shoes because I wanted to make sure that they would be mine and nobody could take them away. I emerged with the old, decrepit shoes in my hand, looking for a trash can. Uncle Roy looked just as surprised as I did when he saw those shoes. We both left very happy and satisfied.
For many months thereafter I wore those shoes everywhere. Not only to school, but to church, too! They outlasted any other shoe I had ever worn—especially the ones we bought at Karl’s Shoe Store, which my mother swore were made of cardboard instead of leather.
So when I look at that pile of old shoes in the corner of my bedroom, still with intact soles and no holes in the bottom, I just have a terrible time throwing them away, even though they may be scuffed and misshapen. I think to myself, out here on the farm nobody will notice if I use them again, even though I never do.
Not many people will understand my obsession. Just me and Imelda.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
The Toughest Woman I Know
Donald Rogers
October 17, 2015
The Toughest Woman I Know
“What are you keeping from me?” she asked, an accusing look in her eye.
“Nothing” I replied. “What do you mean?”
“Well, where did the boy come from?”
“Which boy?”
“The little baby boy I carried home in my arms over the mountain” she said.
“Let’s lay down on the bed, and we’ll talk about it” I suggested. “This may take awhile.”
“Are you talking about Wes?” I continued after we got comfortable face to face on the bed.
My heart fell when she said, “Yes.”
The holes in her memory are getting into major stuff. Last spring it was a granddaughter she lost. Now it’s our son.
“I remember holding the baby in my arms as you drove back home,” she said. “But you didn’t say where he came from. Is he ours? Who gave him to us?”
“You did,” I said. “We drove ninety miles in a snowstorm across Dallas Divide, between Nucla and Montrose, Colorado, to get to the hospital where you gave birth to Wes.”
There was a long silence as Carolyn tried to retrieve the memory—without success.
Finally she asked, “Are you sure?”
“You are going to have to trust me.” I told her. “This damn disease you have is breaking down connections in your brain. You don’t have to try to remember if the memory isn’t there “
Tears appeared in her eyes.
Mine, too.
After a minute she said,”But I don’t want to forget everything. I want to get better again!”
“I want you to get better, too,” I said. But I don’t know how to help you. I’d give anything to make this go away!”
There was a long pause as we both contemplated the future.
“Were you with me in the hospital?”
“Yes, I held your hand and we practiced deep breathing and relaxation as the contractions came, just like we had read in that Lamaze book.”
“Was there a mean old nurse?” she asked.
It seemed to me she remembered the event, or at least some of it. She just couldn’t place it in context.
“Yes, there was," I answered. “But you made a believer out of her before it was over. There was a young girl in the next bed, also in labor, and she was screaming and making a lot of noise, so the nurses were spending most of their time with her. When she finally came over to see how you were doing, she nearly panicked, because you were ready to deliver. That old nurse really admired your quiet courage. I think it was her last day on the job before she retired.”
“Yeah" Carolyn said. “She kept saying ‘don’t push, don’t push’ as they wheeled me in the gurney down to the delivery room.”
“So that was Wes, huh?” She paused, and then said, “Where is he now?”
“He lives in Oregon with his wife Theresa and our granddaughter Paige.”
“That is the same one?” she asked.
“I have an idea, “ I told her. “Even though your memory has holes in it, if you let me retell the story, we can enjoy the recollection together, and maybe some of those memories can go back to some other part of your brain for a while. I would love to tell those stories again if you would like.”
“I’d like that, “ she said. “I love you!”
“I love you, too!” I said.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Universal Gun Access
Don Rogers
October 13, 2015
Universal Gun Access
Liberals are going about it all wrong.
For years, Liberals (mostly Democrats) have tried to get gun control legislation passed to ban certain weapon types, accessories, or ammunition. They have been largely unsuccessful, and in the process lost a lot of one issue, NRA voters. As long as they continue to hammer away at restricting gun ownership, or banning certain types of weapons they will continue to beat their head against the wall so to speak. It is too easy to paint this as another attempt to take away “freedom.”
And yet even most NRA members would like to find some way to stop the increasingly horrendous mass school shootings. They blame mental issues, violent movie and video games, and other causes for the spate of killers in our midst. I see a way to speak to both sides, with a chance of compromise at the end.
Did you know that you can own your own fully auto machine gun? Would you like to have your own M-60 tank to drive around the boonies? All you have to do is show your smart enough and sane enough to get certified. Every year hundreds of people shoot themselves or their family while “cleaning” their weapon of choice, whether it’s a pistol or rifle or shotgun. We know you aren’t that clueless, so if you can show you can do that safely, we will authorize you to own one of these weapons also. We will offer free training for those who might not have had a chance to learn about the safe handling of weapons. We have created a program that funds either the National Guard or local NRA to provide instructors and training on your favorite weapon. We want everyone who likes to shoot skeet, target practice, or go hunting to have that opportunity, and we want you to be able to do it safely, both for yourself and for those around you. Don’t you know you would feel really bad if you went bird hunting and accidentally shot your friend in the face? Sign up today, and get your certification on any weapon you choose. Don’t wait—this may be a limited time offer!
Yep, I’m sure most of you can see what I did there. By offering training we get to screen out the incompetent and insane, and either get them trained and competent or get them mental help. We fund the NRA to provide training, which they are already good at, and maybe get them on the side of responsible, legal gun ownership. Don’t even think about going out to confiscate weapons. Don’t even think about banning or restricting anything. But if someone is seen packing a weapon in public, he may be stopped and asked to show his license proving he is safe and competent to be armed, just as you may be stopped in your car and asked to show your driver’s license.
You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one, for sure!
October 13, 2015
Universal Gun Access
Liberals are going about it all wrong.
For years, Liberals (mostly Democrats) have tried to get gun control legislation passed to ban certain weapon types, accessories, or ammunition. They have been largely unsuccessful, and in the process lost a lot of one issue, NRA voters. As long as they continue to hammer away at restricting gun ownership, or banning certain types of weapons they will continue to beat their head against the wall so to speak. It is too easy to paint this as another attempt to take away “freedom.”
And yet even most NRA members would like to find some way to stop the increasingly horrendous mass school shootings. They blame mental issues, violent movie and video games, and other causes for the spate of killers in our midst. I see a way to speak to both sides, with a chance of compromise at the end.
Did you know that you can own your own fully auto machine gun? Would you like to have your own M-60 tank to drive around the boonies? All you have to do is show your smart enough and sane enough to get certified. Every year hundreds of people shoot themselves or their family while “cleaning” their weapon of choice, whether it’s a pistol or rifle or shotgun. We know you aren’t that clueless, so if you can show you can do that safely, we will authorize you to own one of these weapons also. We will offer free training for those who might not have had a chance to learn about the safe handling of weapons. We have created a program that funds either the National Guard or local NRA to provide instructors and training on your favorite weapon. We want everyone who likes to shoot skeet, target practice, or go hunting to have that opportunity, and we want you to be able to do it safely, both for yourself and for those around you. Don’t you know you would feel really bad if you went bird hunting and accidentally shot your friend in the face? Sign up today, and get your certification on any weapon you choose. Don’t wait—this may be a limited time offer!
Yep, I’m sure most of you can see what I did there. By offering training we get to screen out the incompetent and insane, and either get them trained and competent or get them mental help. We fund the NRA to provide training, which they are already good at, and maybe get them on the side of responsible, legal gun ownership. Don’t even think about going out to confiscate weapons. Don’t even think about banning or restricting anything. But if someone is seen packing a weapon in public, he may be stopped and asked to show his license proving he is safe and competent to be armed, just as you may be stopped in your car and asked to show your driver’s license.
You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one, for sure!
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