A few years ago, annoyed at high gas prices and sensing the need for some practical exercise, I decided to buy a trail bike. My goal was to use the bike for running errands around town.

I had shopped around a little for a bike but really wanted just an inexpensive mode of travel. Meijer’s (regional grocery chain) had a 15 speed trail bike that seemed to fix my need and price range. So, when the day of purchase came, my wife and I traded vehicles. She drove my car to work and I drove her van to Meijers.

Beside buying the bike, I also had a list of accessories to go along with it. These included a combination rear fender/cargo carrier, a lock and chain, a rear view mirror and a tire gauge. I threw the accessories into a shopping cart and then pulled a bike off of the rack.

It was a bit of a challenge to maneuver both a shopping cart and a bike at the same time but I managed, at least for a few feet. When a story clerk saw me struggling along, he came over to help me to the checkout counter.

With my new purchases now bagged and the cart left behind, I practically rode the bike out of the store. When I got to the van, I carefully load all of my equipment in the back and headed for home.

After unloading everything into my garage, I began the process of installing my accessories. First, I installed the rear fender/cargo rack and then the mirror. I knew that I would be on the road in only a few minutes. Next, I needed to check the air in the tires. But as I peered into the bag, it was empty!

What happened to my tire gauge? I know I put it in the cart. Is it in the back of the van? No. I checked my receipt. Not listed. It must have fallen out of my cart on the way to the checkouts.

Drat. I needed to check the tire pressure. While none of the tires were really soft, I was sure that they were not up to the maximum pressure. I gave each tire a squeeze and concluded that they would probably be ok for the time being.

A few days later, I needed to get a few grocery items. Since the purpose of the bike was for errands such as this, I decided to take her out for a run.

Transporting books would be fine for the cargo carrier but groceries might be a bit of a challenge for it. I decided that a backpack would be just the ticket for the trip. So, I grabbed my backpack and headed off to Meijers.

After I purchased my groceries, I loaded them into my backpack and jumped on my bike. It was then that I remembered the tire gauge. Not wishing to go back into the store and noting that there was an auto parts store on the way home, I opted for that solution.

It was about 10 AM when I pulled my bike on to the walk just outside the store. I put my standard down and with back pack bulging, I proceeded in.

Approaching the counter I realized two thing: One, I was the only customer in the store and two, all five of the clerks were starring at me. I thought “must be they don’t have many customers on bikes.”

One of the clerks approached me and asked if he could help me. I told him that I was looking for a tire gauge. He reached behind the counter and pulled out a gauge. He told me it was the cheapest one that he had and that he could let me have it for $2.12.

The price on the package said $4.98. I thought that it must be on sale or something, so, I told the man that I would take it. I reached for my wallet and pulled out two one dollars bills. Certain that I must have twelve cents in my pocket, I pulled out my change. Noting that I only had four pennies, I said “Shoot, I thought I had twelve cents.”

Putting the pennies back in my pocket, I started to reach for my wallet again. That is when the man said “That’s ok mister. Two dollars is close enough”.

I thanked the man and proceeded to leave. As I was walking out the door I heard him say to the others, “Poor devil. Can’t even afford a car.”

We used to have a big furry black cat. He came to us as a stray kitten and judging by how paranoid he was, his previous home was probably not a happy one. Beside being scared of just about every thing, he had this obsession with tinsel from the Christmas tree.

That cat loved that tinsel. Every chance he got he would be under that tree chewing on tinsel. Since we didn’t think that chewing on that tinsel was healthy, we finally had to remove all of the tinsel from the lower branches of the tree.

Then one Christmas day, we noticed that the cat had an eight inch silver streamer hanging down just below his tail. As soon as we saw it, we had a good idea of what it was; tinsel from the tree. Apparently, all of the excitement from opening the gifts had dislodged some of the tinsel from the tree and the cat had, well, eaten it. Not knowing just how much tinsel was still in there, we decided that we needed to manually remove it.

As soon as he saw us moving towards him, his paranoia kicked in and he took off running. In the proud tradition of a bicycle in a Fourth of July parade, his streamer was waving in the breeze. Under the table, behind the sofa, across the living room, up the stairs and finally under my daughter’s bed.

Under the bed was his favorite den. My daughter stored a lot of stuff under the bed plus the bedspread hung down to the floor, so the cat could easily hide before our very eyes in the darkness. Shutting the bedroom door so there would not be any escapes, we started digging for the cat.

It took us about 10 minutes before we finally managed to grab the cat. It seems that the very items that hid the cat also blocked his escape route.

It took two of us to perform the task; one to hold the cat and the other to remove the tinsel. I held the cat as he was rather strong and could break away in a second. Kathy performed the deed. She grabbed the tinsel and slowly started pulling. After about a second or so, the cats eyes got big as saucers and after ten seconds, the tinsel was removed.

We released the cat and opened the door. But instead of running off on a mad dash, the cat, wishing to maintain his dignity, just wandered off slowly as if nothing had happened.

Lowell has a new store, but I don’t know what it is. You see, they don’t have a sign on the outside of the building. They do have a 3×3 white board in the window and have written something on it with dry markers. I guess that is their sign. If so, the name of the store is Quality …… The rest of the words are not legible.

They have put a lot of time and money into getting their business ready and I can understand that their building sign might not be ready yet but still, they should have something stating who they are or what they do. They are right on main street so they should take advantage of their high visibility. They should at least advertise in the local paper or have a grand opening or something.
It looks like they are selling some kind of building products. When I drive by the windows of the store I can see samples of cupboard handles and some kind of floor tile and their 3×3 sign advertising “Quality…” The showroom area is not very large but there is a large garage area in the back so if they are selling anything bulky such as carpet or lumber, the building would be ideal.

The former tenants built hearses. But, they were only there for a few months. Apparently there wasn’t enough market for them or else they relocated to a different facility or maybe even a different state. I do have to wonder how many hearses are needed in the US? I know that most funeral parlors no longer own their own hearses but rent them on an “as needed” basis. I wonder if their business plan included projected death rates in the US.

Prior to that, the hearse people did body work and built hearses as a side project. To me, that seemed like a more viable business approach. But, they were determined to get into the business of building hearses full time. I suspect that they did not have a good business plan

Well, I guess I don’t have a spell checker any more, though I don’t know why. It disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared. Not that I really relied on it as I use the spell checker in my word processing programs instead. I am just curious as to whether I am doing something unintentionally to activate/deactivate the program or if there are some other outside factors that come into play. Maybe this is one of the glitches in my Word Press program. I don’t think that the Word Press people would have access to my site, but maybe they do and they are the ones experimenting with the spell checker. Who know?

When my daughter came to live with us for a year, while her husband is finishing his tour of duty in South Korea, she brought along her pigeons. The pigeons and fly cage reside in the backyard under some trees.

One day, when my daughter was in the fly pen, a hawk came down and attacked the cage. This surprised my daughter as the hawk did not seem to be concerned with her presence. On another occasion, as we were looking out the window, we saw the hawk once again trying to get into the cage.

This prompted my daughter to come up with an idea to try. She got a plastic pop bottle, tied some fish line on it and covered it with faux fur. Then, she threw the bottle out into the back yard and slowly pulled it across the grass, hoping to attract a hawk.

The hawk was not interested. We concluded that apparently the hawk didn’t like faux.
Perhaps faux is too dry and tasteless or maybe there isn’t enough meat for the birds liking. What ever the reason, the hawk didn’t go for the faux.

As you can see, I seemed to have figured out how to post pictures on the blog. What you are looking at is half of a two gun battery on the north side of the San Francisco Bay entrance. The golden gate is off to the left side of the picture but you can’t see it in this shot.

The two gun battery was put into commission in 1905 and was capable of firing an 1,100 pound 12 inch shell eight miles. While only one gun pit is shown, each gun sat in the bottom of their pit and were chained to the steel rings in the wall. The semicircle of steps allowed the gun to be serviced throughout it’s 180 degree turning radius.

When the guns were loaded and ready to fire, they were raised up over the wall. After firing, the guns were lowered back down to be reloaded. Lowering the guns below the wall protected the soldiers from enemy fire. Underneath the gun pits were the magazines and quarters for the staff.

In 1943, the guns were decommissioned and sold for scrap.

One of the folksy aspects of our local paper, the Lowell Ledger, are stories from the past.  Every week they run little clips from 25 years ago, 50 years ago, 75 years ago and 100 years ago.  Recently, one of those clips caught my eye.  It was from January 1907.  Apparently, the weather was so warm that winter that people were enjoying fresh produce from their gardens.  This made me stop and ponder the whole global warming issue.

I can remember a January in 70s that was so warm, I played a round of golf in my short sleeved shirt.  And I drove to the golf course with the top down on my convertible.  And I can remember other Januaries when it was so cold that wild animals were freezing.  This winter has been relatively mild with temperatures hoovering in the mid thirties.  Yet, three years ago, the temperature stayed close to zero most of the winter.  Is it really global warming or just cycles in the weather?

When we first moved into our present house, I got a call from the Grand Rapids Press. They offered us a special introductory rate for a two month trial supscription. Since we had never subscribed to the paper, we thought that we would give it a shot. A few days later, we received an invoice which we promptly paid. Shortly after that, a little white plastic box was placed on our mail box post and voila, the paper appeared.

In the past, we had only read the Sunday paper and we bought that at the local gas station. It was really quite a simple system. I would drive to the gas station, which was only a couple of blocks away, pick up the paper, pay for it and then leave. No fuss, no muss. So, having the paper delivered was a new experience.

For the first week, there was some confusion as to whether the motor carrier or the foot soldier would deliver the paper. So, some days we got two papers.

After our trial subscription ran out, we opted for only getting the Sunday paper as that really was the only day that we could sit and read the paper. Getting the daily paper continued for a few days but then things settled down.

We were very pleased with the delivery system. Our carrier would send us an invoice on the 1st of the month and expect payment by the 15th. No problem. Our payment would supply us with the Sunday paper for the entire month. And every Sunday I would make my 8AM trip to the little white press box and retrieve the paper. But then, my carrier changed. I guess he went off to college or something. So, I got a new carrier.

The new carrier was not so dependable. One morning, I walked out to get the paper only to find an empty little white box. Confused and disappointed, I wandered back to the house. What to do? I remembered that there was a number to call if you didn’t get your paper.

When I dialed the main press number, I was told to press “4″ for missing papers. Great! I made my selection and got a recording asking for my name and address and reassuring me that I would get a paper delivered that day. Yes! But as the morning passed, I was still paperless so I made the trip to the gas station and purchased a paper.

Finally, at 8PM, I heard a rattle at the front door. Upon opening the door, a newspaper fell on my feet and I could see taillights going down the driveway. My paper had arrived as promised but I found the late delivery time to be totally unacceptable. So much for calling the special number.

After missing on an average of one paper a month, I concluded that it was just not economical to continue with the home delivery service. So, I declined further payments and took down my little white press box. And, while making the weekly trip to the gas station was a bit of a bother, at least I didn’t suffer the disappointment of not having a paper.

A few years passed and I got a phone call from some sweet young woman at the press asking me to subscribe to the paper. Forgetting the frustration that I had in the past and taken in by her promises of a new and improved system, I said yes. A few days later, the invoice arrived followed by a new little white press box, on its own little metal post, and the weekly delivery of the Sunday paper.

All was well with this new carrier. The invoice came on the 1st, payment due on the 15th. And the paper made its way into the little white press box each and every Sunday. But then, we got a new carrier.

The new carrier had ridged demands. Invoice on the 1st and payment on the 5th. The 5th!! This was not good. And we soon found out the she was serious. There was no grace period. If she did not receive our payment by the 5th, we would not get our paper that Sunday. Nazi!

We soon found that the system was totally unacceptable and canceled. The carrier, in turn, put a big round red sticky on our little white press box, presumable to insure that she would not deliver a paper to us by mistake. That annoyed me, so I though that I would help her out. I ripped the box off of the post and placed the box over the post so that the post occupied the space that normally contained the paper. I figured if nothing else, the wind might rotate the box and disturb the moles in the yard.

Many years past and despite the biyearly calls from the press, I tersely declined. But, then on that fateful day, I received assurances of an even better and improved system. I would pay quarterly and my payments would be sent directly to the press, thus eliminating payment problems with the carriers. And so, like Charlie Brown and the football, I fell for it again and said yes. And once again, the little white press box appeared on its little metal post, followed by the weekly papers.

The papers appeared weekly for about two years. Every quarter, we would get an invoice, which we paid, and every week the paper appeared in the little white box. I said to my self, I think they now have a working system. But then, one October, we made our quarterly payment on time but did not receive the paper for the entire months of November and December.

After the first missed paper in November, I had resigned myself to the fact that the system still had flaws and would continue to have flaws as long as they relied on people to actually deposit the paper in the little white box. Life is too short and the gas station is only a couple of blocks away. Oh well.

When the January renewal notice came, I stuck it in the paper shredder. Paper shredders can be somewhat gratifying on occasions like this. But then, as if noting my disgruntled attitude, the paper started arriving again. Not only did it arrive on Sunday, it also arrived on Saturday!

Thinking that this must be some sort of promotion, I was skeptical. But the paper arrived every Saturday and Sunday for the months of January and February. Of course, every two weeks I would get a renewal notice from the press and every two weeks I would shred it.

Then one day, I got a phone call from the press telling me that I was late on my renewal. I informed them that I was not going to renew and told them about my crappy service. She asked me why I did not notify them of the cancellation. I told her that non payment should be notice enough. After all, that is the way that my magazine subscriptions work.

After a few minutes of conversation, the woman concluded that while I had received the months of January and February for free, I had not received the papers for November and December, which I had paid for. She removed the past due notice from my account and we ended the conversation. Case closed.

The carrier, in an effort to make sure that he didn’t deliver a paper by mistake, put duct tape over the opening of the little white box. I found this to be a totally uncreative solution and decided to help the poor man out.

After removing the duct tape, I took a black marker and drew two large eyes on the side of the little white box. I then went to a novelty store and purchased a fake hand and arm which I hung from the opening of the box. I doubt that he will ever deliver a paper by mistake and when the neighbors ask about the box, I will tell them the story of the crappy service from the Grand Rapids Press. Come spring, I will turn the little white box into an annoyance for the moles again.

Today was another shopping challenge at Meijer’s (regional grocery chain). My quest was to acquire frozen pearl onions. While I usually use fresh pearl onions, the recipe I had suggested frozen so I thought that I would give it a shot.

Certainly frozen pearl onions would be a common commodity in any freezer case of any grocery store. After all, it’s not as if I am looking for frozen Okra. So I started at one end of the freezer case and began scanning for my prize.

Frozen spinach. Doesn’t sound appetizing. Peas and carrots. Too Gumpish. Broccoli and cauliflora. Crusading crucifers! Ah, frozen pearl onions! No wait. Pearl onions and baby peas. The picture on the package seems to indicate that the peas are the main ingredient and the pearl onions are for garnish. Bah!

I am now nearing the end of the freezer case and still no frozen pearl onions. But wait. What’s this? Frozen Okra? Tell me it ain’t so! There must be a cubic yard of frozen Okra in that case! I wonder if they ever sell any?

I re-scan of the freeze case only this time I work backwards. Perhaps I was distracted and missed them the first time. Moments later, I come to the conclusion that I am either going to have to use fresh pearl onions or find a recipe that uses frozen Okra. Sigh. Fred (Fred Meijer) what am I going to do with you?

Lansing is a place that basically has two types of sit down restaurants; national chains that serve drinks and bars that serve food. This morning, as I drove past a bar that serves food, I noticed their marquee. “Live tonight the Harvestmen. No cover.”

I had to wonder just what are the Harvestmen? I suppose they are some sort of music group but I don’t know. And if they are a music group, just what kind of music do they do? With a name like that, I can’t image them as a rock, blues or rap group. Or if they are, they need to change their name. The Harvestmen sounds more like a name for a barber shop quartet.  Oh well, I guess I will never know.