Scars, Theoretical Physics And A Dead Rancher

Since the world as we know it did not, in point of fact, come to a grand apocalyptic finale as many believed earlier this month, I decided to get in some much needed relaxation by reading a good book.  The Christmas Holiday had kept me busy spending time with some of the family at least and I wanted some "Me" time.  What follows is a description of my most recent epiphany which came to me as I was reading about M Theory.  I trust some of you will find my aforementioned epiphany enlightening.

I was reading an old book about Theoretical Physics just the other day and noticed how tattered the binding had become over the years from reading and re-reading its contents.  The corners of the leather bound cover were worn to rounded on both the front and the back covers.  The spine barely holding the contents together from opening and closing countless times over the years.   I closed the book once I had marked my place with a short length of twine and thought about how I nearly didn't open it.  The book appeared too old to contain anything of consequence or value within the fragile pages.  I studied on the worn leather and noticed how rough it felt beneath my fingers.  In the quiet of the room you could barely hear the stridulant whispers from the cover as my fingers brushed across its surface.   How could something so decrepit in its appearance hold knowledge so vastly important or relevant?  It was at that point where realization struck me.   This book, with its tattered binding and its pages too delicate to turn without care, was in many ways like myself.

My body is old and displays its fragile condition from the many scars and wrinkles acquired over my short time here on this world.  I got up to look at that man in a mirror who is me and studied each and every line furrowed deeply into my once smooth and supple skin.   I looked into the eyes which once boasted sharp, crisp vision and struggled to observe the intricacies of each iris to little avail.  I could see the two scars, one under each side of my mandible where surgery was required to reconstruct my jaw following an automobile accident that nearly ended my time here so many years ago.   Another look and I saw the gaps between my remaining teeth where other teeth used to reside.   I stepped back a little to see the bright pink line running down the center of my chest from the quintuple by-pass surgery I had undergone earlier this year and my eyes welled up with tears.

You see?  When I was a young man, I was handsome, strong, sharp of wit and could out play many of my contemporaries on several different instruments.  I was an avid hunter with keen vision and was known to be a deadly accurate shot with handguns, shotguns, rifles and with the bow.   I had been invited twice to join the elite Mensa organization but never did.   I began to teach guitar and study Theoretical Physics on my own when I was but nine years of age.   I won all the talent contest I ever entered but one and was signed by a management company when I was age twelve.   I made a living playing music for many years locally and on the road.  I was also known to be somewhat of a “smart-ass” (or so everyone claimed).  I've owned and sold several successful businesses during my later years.  Somehow in the midst of all of the things going on in my life I was able to squeeze in a Masters Degree in Music Education and attain a Black Belt (Dan) in the ancient art of Aikido.  I have long studied the art of the warrior called Bushido and strive to bring honor to the Bushido Code.  I was full of vigor during most of my earlier years and possessed somewhat of an attitude.  I was....young.

I miss the man I once was even though I embrace the man I have become.   I am much wiser though you'd never know it from looking at me.   My short-term memory leaves a great deal to be desired but the long term recollections are fine.  It would be safe to say that my anamnesis is fair for my age.  The knowledge contained within the confines of my cranium can be irritating to some at times for I share it freely, as it would seem, without hesitation.  There seems to be little on which I cannot comment.   I enjoy conversing with similarly educated folk at times but find comfort in the more common colloquialism shared with friends and family.  I enjoy the nearly forgotten art of writing though my eye sight wanes and all the while continuing to wrestle with dyslexia.   I can be compared in some ways with that old book resting where it was so carefully placed on my table.   My binding is tattered and worn.   The pages of my mind are so very fragile.   If you were to sit with me and gently open the binding, you would find a great deal of knowledge contained within the pages of my aged mind.   Knowledge attained not only from reading but from experiences unique to my life's journey.   I've made many mistakes over the years and have done my best to learn from them so I might recite the experiences for others so they, too, may learn from my errors.

I remember an old rancher and friend from Wyoming who passed away some years ago.  I visited him as often as I could because he was such a pleasure to listen to and observe.  He was a self-educated individual who could have held a Doctorate had he chosen to go to school and acquire the coveted title.   Most of his wisdom came from experience and worldly observations and his knowledge came from his vast library of old and new books.   He constantly was reading and learning.  I treasure the many talks we shared and time spent just watching the world go by in silent admiration.  I never got the chance to tell him how much the time spent with him meant to me.  He died in his home, surrounded by family and friends with the biggest smile across his wrinkled, sun-weathered face resulting from the joke he'd just told with his last breath.  That smile is still frozen in my memory of him.   I would give anything to have known him longer.  I wish he were a book nestled between others on the shelf of my library so as to permit me to visit him as often as I choose.

The world has become a place of virtual friends and virtual libraries that few people peruse.  We are now a society of a most base functionality with fewer and fewer persons who find learning desirable or necessary.  We rely on computers, phone applications and pocket calculators to solve our mathematical calculations.  We tend to ignore the spelling correctors built into nearly every device and find it easier to just add the misspelled word to the virtual dictionary or simply not bother with it at all leaving the incorrect spelling for the world to see.  Grammar seems nonexistent as a whole.

I hope that our society will one day awaken and understand what it means to learn.  Learning can open up a mind to so much more than most of the populace realizes.   I would love to travel far enough into the future to a point where the personal drive to learn was again foremost on the minds of individuals.   Until the collecting of knowledge has become important once again, our way of life will continue down a path from which there can be no turning back.   Become, instead, as a book.   Don't worry that the binding becomes tattered and the pages yellowed and brittle.  Even your children will pick up the habit of learning from watching you.  They will learn by attrition if by no other manner.   Let the mind do what it yearns to do.  The mind craves learning and absorbs knowledge.   Give it as much as you can give it.  In this way, you may be able to pass your knowledge and volumes of wisdom on to the next generation.  Sit down with a good book from time to time.   A book which is the living, breathing kind of book, more properly referred to as a mature man or woman.  Enjoy some time talking with them, listening to them or just observing the world in silent reverence together.   You may be surprised at what that “book” may teach you.

I Didn't Forget. I've Just Been Busy With Holiday Cheer

I can see by the Traffic Stats that a number of you have been checking in to read my latest post.  I will be publishing a new post on Monday, December 31, 2012 and another the following Wednesday to get back on schedule again.  Thanks for stopping by to check.  

Toodles!

Tragedy, Imagination And Lessons Learned

FOREWORD:

I have thought much about my personal history this last week. My life's history as well as my fallible, old and weak mind is able to recall. I was going to begin writing about some of my life's funnier memories this past Friday, when tragedy struck an elementary school. I was paralyzed like many others upon hearing the news. My heart goes out to all those affected, whether directly or indirectly, by this shameful waste of our most precious commodities; our children. Children who were innocent, their minds full of wonder and with a future as bright as each child could achieve. Let us not forget these gifts to the world. We should also remember all the thousands of other children who are battling terrible, terminal diseases. Those who are dying from their illnesses and those who have already been removed from this world far too early and suffer no more. I ask if you are a “religious” person, remember all our children, alive, suffering and deceased, in your prayers. If you are not then simply take a moment to reflect on what these innocent minds may have brought to our futures. Thank you!

Some of my most favorite memories are the times I spent exploring my yard or the woods across the street. I would spend hours just walking around carrying a stick to poke things. I would poke the end of the stick into this hole in the ground then another and so on. One day I was hole poking with a long, narrow oak twig that had been my best stick for about a week. I stuck the end of the twig into a new hole I'd found after shooing away a few yellow jackets from near the hole. I poked and twisted the stick in and out of the hole several times when I noticed a bee was climbing up through the fresh dirt now filling the hole. My Mother treated my learning experience with several pieces of saliva-soaked cigarettes which seemed to calm the extreme burning cause by the many stings I received. Lesson learned!

At some point around this time I learned about electricity. A fascinating thing that made the lights and television work! One night I made the decision to find out what this “E-LEC-TRICITY” looked like. I searched around the house and found one of my Daddy's small screwdrivers. I sat down in the hallway near the plastic thing in the wall where Mother put the cord from the vacuum every week to pull out the power to run it. I began tediously inserting the screwdriver into one of the openings where that electricity was waiting in the wall. Nothing! I decided to try a different plastic thingy in the living room. I sat down and began to poke into one of the slitted holes again. Mother screamed so loud I almost peed myself. Daddy looked at her and said to leave me alone and that I would learn shortly why I shouldn't be doing that. I smiled and turned back to my task and decided to try the other hole because the first one there just must be empty. My Dad was laughing hysterically when I came to my senses halfway across the floor, hand and arm aching. I noticed a strange taste in my mouth. Metal! It was metal I tasted. I didn't remember seeing the electricity jump out and hit my arm as it climbed up and into my mouth but I knew to never again try pulling it out of the wall. Lesson learned again!

I used to love helping Daddy work on things. After raising two boys and enjoying over a year raising a Grandson, I discovered that I never really helped Daddy. He assigned me tasks that would make it appear as though I were helping but served only to keep me out of his way. After I had grown a little, my Dad wanted me to help him bleed the brakes on Mother's Rambler American. He wanted me to pump the brake pedal while he bled the brake lines. I couldn't quite get it right so he asked me to crawl under the car with him. I did and he began to explain to me what he was doing and showed me how it should be done. OK. This was going to be easy! Daddy climbed behind the steering wheel and I could hear him pumping the brakes. He yelled for me to go ahead, which meant loosen then tighten the fitting. The fitting wouldn't move. I pulled and yanked then brake fluid came squirting out. After Mother got me cleaned up and as much of the brake fluid out of my eyes as she could, she went outside and finished helping Daddy. One more lesson filed into memory.

Some memorable times were spent with my Mother in her later years walking the shoreline of Lake Hartwell. Mother was one of the very first women in South Carolina to have a quadruple by-pass done on her heart. The doctors informed her about a year after her surgery that she should expect to live roughly three years from the date of her surgery. She was devastated! She had only two more years at that point. Eight years after surgery, she was still kicking! My parents had a house on the lake and Mother enjoyed early morning and late afternoon walks along the shore searching for arrow heads and pottery shards. I followed behind her and walked beside her until I thought I knew what I was doing. She would always begin to hang back behind me and find things I simply walked over. Mother would snicker and chuckle to herself as she reached down and picked up the arrow heads I missed. Each time she did so I turned to see her wonderful smile. Mother had learned to appreciate the more simple things and she passed this knowledge over to me. A very important life's lesson learned and treasured!

Daddy is fairly old now and his health is rather poor. He still runs his business which is open five days a week. I love going to visit with him as he works. I carefully watch him dealing with his customers and marvel as much today as I did years ago when watching him. Daddy could have been an Attorney or even a Doctor had he been able to finish school and go on to college. He instead quit school to support his Mother, brothers and sisters which was not all that uncommon in his day. He instead became a rather savvy businessman who can read his customers like a book. He is extremely mechanically inclined. What he was not blessed with in “book-smarts”, as he calls it, he was gifted in other areas. He has the ability to understand how anything with moving parts works and how to make them work better. He has been known to figure out ways to make things run better and has fabricated the parts needed to do so. My mechanical skills come from Daddy as well as my business smarts and so called people skills. More cherished lessons taken to heart and successfully put into practice during my years on this world.

I trust everyone is having a wonderful holiday-time of year. Take time to really enjoy the little things. Ignore the things which you cannot affect as they truly do not matter. Hug your Parents. Hug your children as much as you can. Hug your friend and tell them you love them. Pull your significant other close to you and say, “Let's just cuddle for a while”. These are the most important moments and they will never come around again. You may be fortunate enough to have more of them but that particular instance is lost to time forever! That said. Have a most wonderful Christmas!

Post Script: With waning health and much more time on my hands these days, I contemplate all the “what ifs” along my life's journey. It seems to me the best times I've had are the moments I am still able to share with those who would spend time with me. I enjoy making them think! I suppose I'm trying to bring people back to the activity of thinking and using their endless imaginations.

Imagination is the fountain from which all reality is born.

My Life With Dogs

Okay. I've done two straight Posts that were geared more towards the Educational end of the spectrum. Let's get back to some non “Brain-Overload” type stuff. This one is dedicated to dog lovers everywhere.

I've had a few cats in my life and decided with the last one that I was not what you might call a “Cat Person”. There have been many dogs in my life and I must say I enjoy the companionship of a dog over any cat. Dogs just want to please you and they will all love you unconditionally if they receive love from you. Cats? They would just as soon scratch your eye balls out as to look at you, even though they want you to pet them by rubbing their backs all the freakin' time!

My parents had a Collie when I was still crawling around on all fours. Mother could place me out on the center of the front lawn and tell the dog to watch me, then go inside with no worries. Mother never had to worry about any one getting me or me crawling out of the yard and into the street, as long as the dog was present. As soon as I would get close to the property boundaries, the dog would come over and pick me up by the waist of the diaper and place me right back in the middle of the yard and lie down to watch me. This scenario, I'm told, would be repeated each time our dog felt I was nearing danger.

When I was a little older, we had the most lovable Basset Hound, named Girtie. Girtie appeared to be be a little clumsy due to her short legs and the fact that she was slightly over weight. She would often trip when coming up stairs and steps, but had no trouble bouncing down them. Her long, droopy ears were always dragging the ground as she tracked things after picking up a scent from one thing or another. When she ran, those ears would flap up and down like birds wings as she bounded across the yard or floor. Girtie was not allowed on the furniture at all, but she could always be found hopping down off the couch when we got home. Mother used to have to close my door after she tucked me into bed to keep Girtie out of my room. It never failed that I would awaken each morning with Girtie curled up on my bed at my feet. I never figured out for sure how she was getting into my room at night, but I bet Mother had something to do with it. She knew Girtie loved me and would watch over me during the night and not let any monsters get me as I slept. I cried when a neighbor shot her and killed my dear friend, Gertie.

The next dog we had was a Dachshund. I can't recall her name because she was truly Mother's dog. She was a protective little cuss of the whole family, but had bonded with Mother and recognized her as Alpha Female. She was black with brown markings and a bit nervous around new people. She would pester you to death once she got to know you, however, and want to get up in your lap so you could pet her better. What a cute little pest she was. Mother cried when this little dog died.

We next got a female Weimaraner. She was adopted when she was about four years old. This dog was definitively my Daddy's dog. She loved Mother and me but she still was Daddy's dog. We adopted another Weimaraner, a one year old male, to be a companion for the female. These two were inseparable! When you saw one, the other was close by. They were a brilliant team of hunters and watchdogs. I used to marvel at how one would be quiet and still, while the other would keep your attention when a strange car pulled into the driveway. I would have enjoyed watching them in a real life protecting mode if someone had tried to break in or harm one of us. They hunted in much the same way. One or the other would distract their prey and the other would come in for the kill.

While these two were still around, Daddy bought Mother a dog she'd always wanted to have, a Harlequin Great Dane. It was a male and seven weeks old when Daddy brought him home to Mother. I'm sure if you've raised a large breed dog from a puppy, you know full well what happens whenever they are fully grown. They still want you to hold them on your lap like you used to when they were a puppy! The Dane and the Weimaraners got along wonderfully and became a pack of Holy Terrors. In a good way. They went through almost sixty pounds of food, per dog, per week. The trio was inseparable and with these mutts inside the home, we were a family of six.

Early one morning while I was at college and Mother was shopping, the dogs awoke Daddy who had stayed home a little later because he felt sick earlier that night. Daddy immediately noticed the smell of something burning. He went to the window and saw all three dogs barking like mad and looking up to his bedroom window. These dogs were truly heroes! They saved my Daddy's life that morning! Our house burned completely to the ground.

The Dane developed heart trouble, as is common among them, and subsequently died. My Mother cried. The female Weimaraner died of old age and the male just disappeared afterwards. My Mother, my Daddy and I all cried when the two of these dogs were gone.

After I was married, I had a few other dogs but the one that I remember the most from back then was a former hunting dog that had been used for breeding as well which I adopted from a good friend. She was a Yellow Lab and her name was Sugar. I built a chain link fence for her that was thirty yards wide by one hundred yards long so she would have plenty of room to play and train. I use to hunt with her and if you've ever hunted a dog, you realize you have to work them when not hunting. I had numerous birds for her to work with and several balls for play. When I had the dummies, she knew it was time to work. When I would pick up a ball, she'd go berserk! You could see it in her eyes. She'd wag her tail so violently that the inertia actually caused her back paws to slide to and fro across the ground.

One day while outside, I could tell Sugar wanted to play. I went into her run, picked up her favorite ball and threw it down the run. We repeated this for at least an hour without her tiring. I had become tired but picked the ball up which she always placed at my feet and threw it again. Oh, no! This time it was headed along the short angle of the run. Sugar always ran as fast as she could looking over her back and never looking ahead and would try to catch the ball before it hit the ground. As the ball went over the fence, Sugar plowed head-long into the chain link at full speed then yelped. Though I petted and comforted her for a good long while, she never played with me again. She would work well enough but never chased after another ball that came from my hands. Someone stole her right out of her run one night and once again, I cried over a dog.

While living in Wyoming, I had an AKC registered American Black and Tan Coonhound from a champion lineage and he had an impressive PRN. His name was Buford. He was my ex-wife's dog but bonded with me the strongest. There are many stories that could be told about this amazing dog but I'll limit it to only two.

Buford knew he was not allowed in the kitchen when I was cooking, so he would place both front paws about one inch onto the kitchen floor while the rest of him laid on the dining room carpet. I would talk to him as I cooked explaining every thing I was doing and he would listen to me intently. I always cooked him an egg on Sunday mornings. He liked eggs. I could tell.

I also grilled out a lot and would talk to him and explain every thing I did on the grill. One day I decided to go back in to watch a little more TV while my elk steaks were cooking. I looked at Buford and told him to let me know when the steaks were ready to turn over. He got up and came over nearer the hot grill and plopped his butt down on the ground and stared at the grill. I went inside and a few minutes later, the barking began. I went outside and Buford was standing next to the grill wagging his tail. I lifted the top and turned the steaks. I closed it and told Buford to let me know when they were done, then started back inside as he once again sat at his station beside the grill. Several minutes later, more barking. I grabbed a plate on the way outside and found Buford wagging his tail beside the grill again. The steaks were perfectly temped to the rare side of Medium Rare, just the way I like them. Buford could do this every time whether watching food on the grill, on the range or in the oven. I never figured out how he did it.

Buford was often found "Chillin' the boys".

Cletus.  My boy!

I wanted to get Buford a friend and went to Cheyenne to the Animal Shelter. There I found a Tree Walker Hound that had been neglected and obviously abused. I found out that he had been adopted once and returned because the folks who adopted him didn't know how to deal with the dog's issues and how to take care of him. While I was filling out the adoption papers, I was told that this poor dog had been beaten over and over, had been burned with lit cigarettes and shot. One of the beatings he endured left him suffering from seizures, as we were to find out later. For a whole year he would not just come to me when I called him. He would run and hide if he saw any male, including me, wearing a ball cap. Finally, after long hours of loving him without expectations, he came over to me one day and just laid his head on my lap. I slowly began to scratch behind his ears and rub his neck then immediately reinforced his trust in me with one of his favorite treats. Over the next few months, he became a “Daddy's Doggy”. We were quite the pair!

Cletus and Buford.  Pals!

Buford began to get sick not long after he saw that Cletus, the Tree Walker, was going to take care of me. Buford succumbed to a virulent strain of cancer a few months later and I still cry for him today. Buford was missed but we got another friend for Cletus, another Black and Tan, who we named, Zeke. Zeke was adopted from a rescue outfit in Nebraska. Cletus and Zeke rapidly became buddies. I had to leave Cletus with my ex when I moved back home to South Carolina. He's another dog I still cry about when I'm depressed and begin to think about how much I miss him.

When I moved in with my Girlfriend turned Fiancee, she already had a dog named Wookie. If you ever see him you will surely understand how he got his name. He's a Shepard mix and one of the best outdoor dogs I've ever seen. He doesn't bark at things he shouldn't but will bark his head off if he sees some one or some thing come onto the property or if he sees something he views as a threat. He's also one of those grinning dogs and he cracks me up grinning all the time.

Credence, our new baby in "Protect Mode".

More recently, Credence came into our lives. She had been neglected and we could tell she just wanted some one to help her. We did. I'll tell you some stories about our new baby, Credence, in a few weeks. I think I've rambled on enough for now about some of the dogs in my life who became family. I hope you've enjoyed reading some things about these awesome K-9 personalities.

All I can leave you with is this piece of advice. If you decide to bring a dog into your home, adoption is certainly a wonderful route to take. I don't even consider getting animals from the pet shops or any breeding mill these days. I feel adopting a dog from a reputable breeder, shelter or rescue agency is the only logical choice when considering a pet. I've had good luck with reputable breeders but will stick to adoption from shelters and rescue agencies from now on. That way I know at least one more animal will avoid being put to sleep.

Until next week,

Toodles!

Black Hole Existence Predicted!

This post lends itself more towards the educational but I will attempt to keep it entertaining for the general populace. I suggested that I might cover this subject at the end of my last post realizing my readership may wane from its posting. Everyone knows that Albert Einstein predicted and mathematically proved the existence of Black Holes. Right? That's what they used to teach when I was in school. I can't comment today about what is or isn't taught in schools as I no longer have children attending school. They already have their Masters in other areas. Well, Einstein got credit for the prediction of the existence of Black Holes when he published his General Theory Of Relativity in 1915. A solution to Einstein's field equations regarding gravitational fields of a point mass and spherical masses were given by Karl Schwarzchild a few weeks later which was confirmed by another theorist. That still doesn't answer the question at hand. Who originally predicted the existence of Black Holes?

An English Geologist, no less, by the name of John Michell suggested the existence of Black Holes way back in 1783 in a letter to Henry Cavendish of the Royal Society. 1783! That's a year or two before Einstein's time, I'd say! His letter in part read:

If the semi-diameter of a sphere of the same density as the Sun were to exceed that of the Sun in the proportion of 500 to 1, a body falling from an infinite height towards it would have acquired at its surface greater velocity than that of light, and consequently supposing light to be attracted by the same force in proportion to its vis inertiae, with other bodies, all light emitted from such a body would be made to return towards it by its own proper gravity.

            
            —John Michell

In layman's terms: If the gravitational pull of an object is strong enough to crush it down to a singularity, not even light can escape its grasp. There. That made it easier to understand. Right? John Michell subscribed to Sir Isaac Newton's theories on gravity and deduced his hypothesis solely based on Newton's observations. All this one hundred thirty-two years before the aforementioned Einstein got world-wide credit for suggesting the possibility of black holes using math.

I began to study Theoretical Physics on my own when I was but nine years old.  When I came to Einstein's work, some things just didn't add up to me.  As a result, I have long held some questions about accuracy in regards Einstein's equations and several of his equations have been found to contain errors which have been corrected over the years. Yes! Einstein made some errors in some of his calculations. That is not a bad thing. No person can know everything but he sure did impress the world with his thinking.

We all know what Einstein looked like because he lived during a time where photography was more commonplace. John Michell, however, did not. There exists no painted likeness or photographs of the man. There remains only a brief description of the man written by one of his contemporaries which follows:

John Michell, BD is a little short Man, of a black Complexion, and fat; but having no Acquaintance with him, can say little of him. I think he had the care of St. Botolph’s Church Cambridge, while he continued Fellow of Queen's College, where he was esteemed a very ingenious Man, and an excellent Philosopher. He has published some things in that way, on the Magnet and Electricity.’

(Cole MSS XXXIII, 156, British Library).

A very ingenious man, indeed. I cannot get over why this man is not given credit for his knowledge as well as his black hole prediction! He probably never achieved Einstein's status of recognition because much of his line of thinking was far beyond the times in which he lived. I hazard to guess that only a handful of contemporary Theoretical Physicists know the name. If so, they recognize it solely as a minor footnote to their educational background. John Michell. Yet another “Man Before His Time”.

Thanks for reading. I trust you gained a few more tidbits for your trivia game. I believe in education. I believe there must be more out there beyond our ever expanding horizon of learning. I believe in you and hope that you will take it upon yourself to learn something new each and every day. Most importantly, I put my trust in you that you will make it a personal goal to share and pass your knowledge on to others as often as opportunities arise.

A Point To Ponder:

Nothing with mass can attain escape velocity from beyond the event horizon of a black hole. Every one knows this because our teachers and text books tell us so. Also, nothing with mass can attain light speed because of the sheer energy it purportedly requires to go that fast. You still with me? We know that light is made of particles. Particles contain mass! Assuming this to be correct, how can any mass, such as particles traveling on a wave, attain light speed?

This, Dear Reader, is the multi-trillion dollar question. Figure this one out and humanity just may be able to travel beyond the stars! Happy Pondering!

General George Washington, Sixteenth President of our Country

In the past, my Blogs have run the gambit from depressed, to angry and more recently, with this newer Blog Spot, leaning more towards the educational or at least attempting to make you think a little. I've always incorporated a more broad vocabulary because I know there are some that read my Blogs who use their extensive vocabulary for much more than colloquial conversation. Others, I'm sure, either used a dictionary or Googled a word or two. I will say right here that there is nothing wrong with having to look up a word! Please don't leave me hateful comments about educational levels of my readership. I happen to be one who must look up a word two or three times a week. I enjoy doing so, in point of fact. I understand, by doing so, that I am learning. I love to learn about new things. I pride myself on knowing little known or forgotten points in history or knowing things about Science or Technology of which my peers may not be aware.

For example:

How many holidays do we celebrate on the wrong day in this country? Did any of you mention July 4^th, a. k. a./The Fourth Of July, a. k. a./Independence Day? What is the correct day our independence was declared? What is the correct title of what we call "The Declaration Of Independence"? How many people signed it and on what dates? Did they all sit down together in a room to sign it as it is assumed in an historical painting by John Trumbull?

First. The aforementioned painting is often referred to as a depiction of the signing of the Declaration Of Independence.  I'm sure if you ask any child and most adults about what is depicted in this huge oil painting almost all will say, "It depicts the signing of The Declaration Of Independence."  It depicts instead, The presentation of said document to the Second Continental Congress. Now that some of you have learned that much.....

Second. Independence Day is not July 4, 1776. Our Independence Day is actually July 2, 1776. It is true! The draft of the document was what made Congress decide to declare independence from England and they did so on July 2, 1776, a full month after discussions to do so began. After the document had been drafted and Congress had ratified it and declared our independence, the text of the document was adopted two days later on July 4^th.

Lastly. The document was signed by John Hancock (one of numerous Presidents before George Washington), President of the Second Continental Congress on July 4, 1776. The rest of the fifty-six signatures were not scribed until August 2, 1776 after the final draft had been scribed. President Hancock signed the final draft as well. (One signature did not make the famous parchment until November 4^th of that year.)  President Hancock's signature was written so large because the King of England had sworn a warrant for the arrest of Hancock and many others and President Hancock wanted the King and others to be able to read his signature without spectacles (glasses). You have to admire the man's gumption! I wonder if I would have been so bold were I in his place.

It may be noted here that there were a total of fifteen Presidencies prior to General George Washington being elected as the President of our country, recently renamed “The Thirteen Colonies Of The United States”. In short, The United States. “Of America” was added later. Therefore. Though Washington was not the first President of our Country, he was the first President elected by our newly renamed country called the United States Of America. You may be asking yourself, “Who was our Country's first President?” My advice to you is Google it.  I did thinking there were only three Presidents before Washington.

I hope you've enjoyed these two little pieces of trivia which are part of our Country's history. There are many other historical events that are no longer taught in our schools so it is up to each and every one of us to research, learn and teach others about different subjects. History, Science, proper English Grammar and many more subjects could be preserved if we take it upon ourselves as individual contributors to society to pass the knowledge down to future generations. In this way, we won't have to worry whether our children are being taught everything they need be taught.  Maybe next time I'll talk about who first proposed the possibility of Black Holes.  (It Wasn't Einstein.)

Elderly Anamneses and The Tale Of The Broken Bow

Ever notice how, as you get older, time seems to become needed less and less. Time appears to take on new meaning when you reach fifty years of age. The years of personal history with all its triumphs and failures seem to blur and sometimes get pulled into the black hole located deep within the brain. There are multiple advantages to this stage of memory loss.

My Lady and I oft times giggle about never struggling to find something to watch on the television. It doesn't matter that we may have seen a given program or movie fifteen times because it usually has been forgotten and we enjoy viewing it anew each time. I would hate to have guests or children in the house now because I'm sure they would be complaining about having to watch the same things over and over again.

Another neat little thing about elderly memory recession is never worrying about subject matter for conversations. I must have told some stories a hundred or more times. The beauty of it in our household is all the repeated stories are always new! You see? There are advantages to getting old and losing some of that unimportant short-term memory.

It fascinates me that some things done years ago stick with you no matter what. Many of those memories just happen to be the ones you'd like to forget and have all your buddies who were witnesses to those things forget them as well. For example. I had been a rather good Archer for a number of years with both Right and Left-Handed bows. I was most comfortable with Re-curve Bows because I'd confidently used them for many years without issue or incident. My buddies had finally talked me into purchasing a new-fangled Compound Bow. I bought a used one because I didn't want to sink a lot of money into something that I might wind up not liking at all. I had worked on the new/used bow for several days. Lubricating, tightening here and there, adjusting and drawing this complicated tool of modern archery. I finally began to practice with it with target tips roughly aimed in the general direction of the target affixed to the hay bale twenty yards from a tree root used as a line in the ground. I'd loose an arrow and watch for the fletching to stop indicating the arrow had struck its mark. Another adjustment or thirty to the sight posts and I was becoming quite accurate with my new toy. With the sun lingering low on the horizon, I packed arrows and bow away to pull out and play another day. (Make a rhyme every time!)

It so happened that one of my buddies called and asked me to come over to his house to fling some arrows downrange, as he called it, the next day. I piled my bow and extra arrows and tips next to the door so I wouldn't forget them in the morning. I then laid down to try and sleep but couldn't for thinking about how I was going to surprise my friends the next day.

The sun finally began to slip through the blinds and onto my closed eye lids which told me it was time to get the coffee brewing. I showered and hurriedly dressed in my finest Real Tree Cammo outfit, grabbed my archery gear and headed off to Wayne's house. As expected, I pulled into the driveway to chants of “Re-Curve Man!” They all loved giving me a hard time about my older technology bows. I just smiled as I got out of my pick up, reached into the bed and grabbed the bow case and a large quiver stuffed full of my best arrows. I went over to a table and laid everything out and began to prepare for the target practice. Out came the Compound Bow and the hoots and hollers started! “It's about God-damned time you decided to get with the rest of the world!”, Wayne chided. I just smiled back at him.

It was finally time to nock arrows and ceremoniously loose the first ones in unison which was our custom. All three arrows made purchase deep within our individual, hay bale backed targets nearly simultaneously. I reached for another arrow to nock and noticed Wayne was staring at me and then to my centered 'Bull's-Eye' downrange. I could tell he wanted to say something smart but he held his tongue as I raised the bow. Just as I reached full draw, I heard a loud crack then rapidly found myself wrapped in bow-string with one of the broken bow limbs swaying dangerously close to my left eye.

I stood there, shocked and perplexed for what must have been a minute or two still in my full draw position. I was brought back to reality as the sound of unbridled laughter began to make its way forward into my consciousness. Back to myself once more, I took a series of tiny little steps to turn around still maintaining my full draw stance. Once I had turned enough to face my truck, I used similar baby steps to carry myself back to the safety of said truck. I finally started the arduous chore of untangling myself from, what seemed at the time, miles of bow string.

Both my buddies laughed for more than an hour. Neither of them were able to loose another arrow the rest of the morning. All they could bring themselves to do was imitate what they had witnessed during my equipment failure and start laughing all over again. Of course they had to tell everyone they saw just what had happened to me on that fateful morning. As a result of their retelling and reenacting "The Tale Of The Broken Bow", as they had named it, I still get ribbed for the incident to this day! I wish this event could be wiped clean from every person's mind who witnessed it or has heard the tale. God love 'em! The bastards!

The Moral Of The Story? No matter how many things you forget as you grow older, your surviving friends will still be telling your most embarrassing story to as many people who will listen. Since they suffer the same memory issues as you do, they'll tell it over and over and over and over and over and....

Chicken Eggs, Eye-Boogers And A Bull's Ass

Some time ago I came to the conclusion that I am, in point of fact, beginning to get older. I was born in 1958 and by my mathematical calculations (using today's math) this dates me to somewhere between seventeen and nineteen years of age. That's my story and I'll stick to it as long as you let me use contemporary mathematics. Using the math I grew up with I am, however, in actuality more than half-a-century old. Now. That may seem like old to some but to those of us this old and older, it ain't old at all. Younger folk would do well to actually look up from their phones, tablets, and computer games and strike up some conversation with us Old Geezers. With all our years of living has come a tremendous amount of knowledge and wisdom. Knowledge and wisdom which seems to be in short supply these days. Most all the young, whipper-snappers of today lack much understanding which comes from, you guessed it, knowledge and wisdom! Go figure! So. The next time you ask a question of a young-un, you'll understand the reason for the deer-in-the-headlights stare.

This brings me to a quandary. How do we as naturally inquisitive adults attain understanding? Through study. That's how! You don't have to only study books. You must decide to study written texts as well as a life-long, in-depth study of the world and your immediate environment. For example: Several years ago, I was preparing breakfast and was removing several eggs, one-by-one from the refrigerator to lay out to cook. As I moved the eggs from one spot to another, I studied the shape of each egg. They were each slightly different in one way or another but were all “egg-shaped”. I began to ponder about the definitive shape and how eggs came to be shaped thus. After some considerable contemplation as I enjoyed the last remnants of my fried eggs and grits, I decided to see what I may find on the aforementioned subject on the internet. Keep in mind that I am a city boy, born and raised in Greenville, South Carolina and never spent any time on or near a farm. That made me rather uneducated in regards what others might deem common knowledge.

Following a few key strokes on the computer, I found a web-site dealing with nothing but Chicken Trivia hosted by none other than The Georgia Tech Extension Service.  The best part was they had an actual Contact E-Mail Address!  I excitedly went about composing an e-mail explaining my citified upbringing and my pondering over breakfast about how those eggshells got their shape.  In other words, which freakin' "end" of the egg comes out of the chicken first?  I checked my In-box everyday for over two weeks before finally receiving a response from the contact person at Georgia Tech's Extension Service about my Chicken Trivia question.  I opened the message and began to read. “Dear Mr. Davis,....”, it began, “....You are truly one of the World's greatest thinkers!....”  I wasn't sure but I thought I detected some level of sarcasm in the opening statement therein. He continued on to explain just how the chicken eggs got their shape and it then made total sense to me. It was akin to a harsh “Duh!” moment.   No matter the sarcasm interlaced into the response, I learned something that day. I learned because I was curious enough to ask the question.  I never have claimed to be the smartest person on the planet and took the ribbing as part of the learning process.

Here's another example of how I gain understanding from knowledge and wisdom. I was on a hunting trip many years ago on a ranch in Wyoming. I was hunting Pronghorn Antelope. After a rather long morning of trying to figure out the running patterns of the game, I had become hungry and decided to park low into a draw and eat my lunch. As I sat there munching on some cheese crackers and Penrose Sausages and drinking coffee, I noticed a rather large, longhorn bull had come over the rise to keep an eye on me. I kept an eye on him as I made sure I had a quick way to escape should he decide to charge. The bull became relaxed enough to let his attention drift to something else moving on the prairie and he had  turned completely away from me. I sat there sipping coffee watching the bull. I studied his movements and admired his lean, muscular appearance. He swatted his tail to one side then the other to shoo the flies away and that's when it hit me. I've never understood just how my brain worked but there it was just as obvious as could be! A bull's ass is made of beef!

One more thing for you to consider. You awake in the morning and at some point scrape the crusty junk from the inside corners of both eyes. Usually this occurs while sitting in your car at a traffic light as the person in the lane next to you is watching to see what you do with it. Come on! You know this has happened to you! At some point later on in the day, you notice that your eyes feel “funny” and you again put a finger into each eye's inside corner. This time what you find is that soft bulb of off-white, sticky matter I refer to as Eye-Boogers. Most of us will just roll the Eye-Booger between our index finger and thumb rather than wiping it onto a tissue or (Eewe!) licking it off with our tongues. Here comes the conundrum. For those of us who roll it around betwixt digits, where the hell does that Eye-Booger go? It just seems to disappear! Is there an Eye-Booger Faerie that comes and snatches it away from us before we wipe it underneath the car seat or worse, on our pants? I believe what must happen to the Eye-Booger is that the friction of rolling it around causes a disturbance in the magnetic flux of the element, Unobtainium which initiates a linear phase shift in its mass resulting in faster-than-light-speed transfer from one membrane to another effectually causing what a number of scientist have dubbed 'The Big Bang'. I came up with this theory while under the influence of the chemical compound, 3, 4, 5-Trimethoxybenzeneethanamine (C11H17NO3). Awe. Come on, Young-uns! I bet a lot of you are wishing you'd paid attention in Chemistry!  It's another one of those "Knowledge + Wisdom = Understanding" things!

Toodles until next week!

Technology, Neighbors and Fresh Milk

I've had a rather busy week and have struggled with subject matter for this week's Blog. I'm tired of the Political Races. You'll know who won by the time you read this any way. I'm outright fed up with the lack of respect for our troops by some individuals. Sorely upset am I with the way other countries perceive us much because of our politician's actions over the years and our apparent inability to search for the truth about the things we do to other countries. I still believe I live in the best country in the world. I just don't have to love the way some things are handled within our borders and overseas. (Time to get off my Soap-Box here.) I've wondered whether to rant and complain about family feuds or my health difficulties. After much thought, I finally decided on a few topics for this week.

Technology! What the hell is going on with the technological advances these days. I used to be able to keep up with new stuff but have found that I'm squarely behind the eight-ball these days on much of the new technology of today. I've discovered that I can no longer impress my associates with trivia about new things coming out soon. I'm often met with resounding retorts about several other new things that are already on the market to which I was not privy. I always tried to keep just ahead of new technology but have found it seems to advance years in just a month. I still remember the days when it took roughly thirty to fifty Key-Strokes to boot a computer. Back then, the only operating system was the Programmer's Language called DOS. Frozen pine sap flowed faster than those first computers could resolve a single, simple mathematical problem. Now? The processors of today are so much faster. And the memory capacity! It makes those early computers look like something from the dark ages. Wait! I suppose you could say they were in the dark ages of computing back then! My phone has more memory and is decidedly faster than my first computer and my phone is five years old!

Neighbors! These are the folks who live nearby. You know? In that house next door, the one across the street and other locations near your house. These are the folks who used to visit us and that we used to visit when I was growing up. We all knew each other and usually had no more than two sore heads or ass-holes who lived in the neighborhood that everyone hated. We never used to grace them with a friendly wave but would turn our noses up if they looked at us. What happened? It seems no one ever knows all their neighbors anymore. We peer at them through the narrow slits in our blinds and wonder what they're up to instead of going over to introduce ourselves and invite them over for coffee or a Bar-B-Que. We live close to them so why don't we know them? Has our trust and faith in Humanity fallen so low or is it that we just cannot bare to miss our TV shows once in a while? Your friends cannot make it into Syndication like your TV Programs are likely to do. When the friends (neighbors) are gone, they're just gone.

Fresh milk! There's nothing like going down to the local dairy and purchasing a quart or a gallon of fresh milk then turning up the container to get a big old swig of contents without shaking it up first! If you're my age or older or have poured a glass of fresh milk in recent years, you know what I'm talking about. The layer of thick, delicious cream that rests on top of the milk! To use some text talk phrases, OMG! That is SFG! The first of the liquid that is poured out of the container with some milk chocolate sauce stirred into it is like silky, chocolate heaven on the pallet. I miss the milk bottles with the paper or foil caps pressed around the mouth of the bottle because all the milk back then had that wonderful layer of cream which every child and every adult craved and often fought over (at least in our house). It's getting harder to find milk with cream on it these days. If you pass by a dairy with a retail store in it someday, stop in and grab a pint of fresh milk. Shake it up then try to just sip it! I think you'll find that you'll turn it up and you won't be able to stop until the last drop is gone. Then you'll go back for another. All this talk of fresh milk has gotten me in the mood for a tall, cold glass of chocolate milk made with fresh milk from the Happy Cow Dairy just down the road from us. You can bet I'm going to pour that milk without shaking the container up first. Mmmmmm!