Importance of Breakfast

   I have been going out to breakfast with a friend of mine from when you could get a good breakfast for about $2.25.  I remember when you could get bacon and eggs, toast and hash browns for a dollar.
That same breakfast today is about nine dollars so there is a pretty simple mathematical correlation:
Breakfast is related to the minimum wage, within a quarter to be exact.  The minimum wage in Oregon is $9.05, Washington to the North is a little higher.  Some States are a lot lower and some cities have their own set minimum wage.  San Fransisco is over $10.
   We used to work together every day.  I was officially "his boss" as I owned the company but there were a lot of jobs I did that would not have gotten done without him.  We would go out to breakfast once a week, discuss the past week and anticipate the work ahead.  When I quit the construction business, he did too.  When I bought my welder, he did too and we would do small jobs and arty stuff independently and collaborate, working together on the bigger jobs.  We always had breakfast together when we did these bigger jobs, sharing the tasks, the tools, the labor and the breakfast.  Sometimes he would buy and sometimes I would buy. We were working.  The price of a breakfast tied to minimum wage, it was like giving the other an hour.
   It is different now that we are both retired and living on Social Security.  We still go out to breakfast but normally only once a month, the second Wednesday of the month, to be precise: payday!  One time he will buy and the next month it is my turn.  The exception to this is when either of us finds some kind of work where we need the help of the other and can work together.  That being a cause for celebration, we always look forward to breakfast.
   Least you think that I hang out with liberals my friend is pretty conservative, mostly but not always, votes the opposite that I do, recently joined the NRA and has a concealed gun permit (and actually carries the damn thing!) and drives a big diesel pick up truck.  And yes, of course we talk politics!
What else is going on?  Oh, we do the me, me, me and you, you, you thing.  What I am up to and what he is working on but that is pretty much done by the time the waiter takes our order.  By the time the food arrives we are deep into politics and the world situation.  The secret to our on-going relationship and growing friendship is that we actually listen to each other.  If he finds a good book he will give it to
me when he has finished it.  Sometimes we have exchanged as many as 5 books in a week!  We share our labor, the breakfast and our ideas, make fun of each other when ideas cannot be backed up and always research further for even more discussion at the next breakfast.  Sometimes we catch ourselves
in agreement and sometimes we can sense the other weakening.  I would like to say that it is never personal but it always is.  I really want to know why he feels the way he does and he does that of me also.
   He expected that I would cringe when he told me recently that he had joined the NRA. Not at all, I told him!  My dad was a card caring member of the NRA!  When my dad died I inherited about 6 or 7 guns and rifles.  The funny thing was is that he didn't have a single bullet in the house, no ammunition
at all.  My dad like the mechanics and weight of guns.  He did not like to shoot things, not even targets.
He did believe in the 2nd amendment but not in a militarized society.  If you want militias and free access to guns and less government you end up like Somalia!  Oh, there was a discussion so we went that way for the rest of breakfast!
   I look forward to our breakfasts together.  I think friendships need feeding.

Robert W. Wallace

One last story because I want his name in cyber space.
   I do not understand writing people off, erasing them like a mistake on a chalkboard.  I think that I remember every single person that I have ever met.  Maybe I might forget their names but each meeting has a response and adjusts the filters through which I see.
   "Bob" Wallace was a friend of my brother's, a part of his gang that gathered around my parent's house in the early 1960's.  The Vietnam era, get out the vote era, segregation era, before "hippies" were invented, still a "beatnik" era.  For some this time was about drive ins, hamburger joints, motorcycles and girls two and a half kids, a white picket fence and "leave it to Beaver".  Ozzy and Harriot kind of life.  The draft had started and for other's life became a bit more serious.
   Bob's parents had a plan for him.  It is always interesting how we are let down by our expectation of others.  Like we couldn't quite figure it out ourselves so we expect other's to do it for us.  Live out our dreams.  They were rich by the standards of our little town.  His dad was the Superintendent of Schools, a pretty important job in those days, a job with high expectations.  Bob was supposed to go to Cal Tech and become an engineer.  He was smart enough.  Could have been like Steve Jobs although he dropped out of school too.  Bob went to Cal Tech for a term and dropped out.  That wasn't the carrot he wanted to chase.
   I knew Bob for maybe three years.  He had a huge influence on my life.  He was buried on one of the tallest hills in Corvallis and I used to ride my bicycle to his grave site to visit him.
   For the longest time it was an unmarked grave; years passed before a marker was set.  His mother didn't go to the funeral or visit him in the hospital where he was in a coma.  His father visited him once for about five minutes.  Years later when his father died there was no mention of Bob in that obituary.
   Bob died in a Vespa accident.  A simple flat tire sent him head over heals and without a helmet his head took the brunt of the fall.  The issue with his parents could have been anything.  I am not sure whether it has any importance.  Could have been the times, just failed expectations,  maybe even something I don't know about.  I know he didn't have insurance.  Maybe it was that?  His dad sent him money for insurance and he spent it on a stereo system instead.  He liked music.
   One day, maybe twenty years later, I went to visit his grave.  I did this at least once a year, sit and talk with him, tell him what was happening, what was going on.  I would always steal a flower from another grave site and place it on his.  He would have appreciated the humor to that, the absurdity of everything.  We laughed a lot.
  On this particular day he wasn't there.  I knew exactly where he was supposed to be, by the side of the little narrow lane, next to a little pine tree and close to a rose bush.  Poof! He was gone, just like that.  Like he never was.
   I found the caretaker and he told me that Bob was dug up and cremated.  His marker so much broken marble behind the crematorium.  Disappeared.  From guilt or hatred or embarrassment I don't know.
   Robert W. Wallace.  I remember you.

Who is in Russia?

   I wonder sometimes who is clicking on these posts, who is visiting me?  The "stats page" tells me where and sometimes even how they found me but it never tells me who.
   Yesterday, RUSSIA!  How cool is that?  Over 30 "hits" from Russia!  But not one message, no comments, just "hits".  I wonder about their Internet, can they surf but have a fear of being found out, a fear of their opinions?  Hahahaha!  That is so funny, we do too!
  Oh, we don't have secret police.  I don't think anyway, at least not on the street corners yet, although everyone knows that all e-mails are in the ethernet forever and subject to review.
   Sometimes we don't comment because we do not want to go on record, fearful of offending someone, of being misquoted, fear of taking a position, maybe even a fear of being caught on company time!
   I wonder about Russia though and can imagine a whole Junior High School class investigating me, that might account for my 30 "hits".  It can't be the Russian Secret Police.  I don't know anything.  That is why I am always asking questions.  There is no need to torture me, I would just lie.  Tell you anything you want to know.  Make up stories.  Switch sides back and forth in order to confuse you, fall into a Southern Accent and tell you I am from Georgia.  No, not that Georgia, we have one too!
   In fact, we have a lot in common.  The same "Western Expansion" experience except yours was towards the East.  The same abundance in Natural Resources, the same towering fir trees, open spaces, wealth of land.  Huge countries, both of us.
   And we have probably both made mistakes, could have done something different than we did.  We have been allies and enemies, times when we didn't even talk.  Competitors.  Sports or politics, always something.
   McDonald's is there now, the biggest one in the world and I wonder what you must think of us?  How are images made?  How are opinions formed?
   My "Russian Connection" is pretty much limited to tomatoes.  Years ago I found a Siberian Variety, one used to colder nights and it does well in my garden.  No need to torture me, I'll tell you everything I know!
   30 "hits" in one day!  I wonder if it is "Hot Russian Babes"?  I have never seen one but I know about them.
Well, I don't really but I could imagine that I do.  I know there is more to Russia than Vodka and girls and Sputnik.  We use your rockets now!  That is sort of embarrassing.  The United States of America can't afford a single rocket to get us to the Space Station!  Well, that tells a lot about us.  We are going broke!
   Anyway, if you should stop in today, say "hi" and we can talk about tomatoes or art, share adventures and dreams, how to fix the back porch, or even what is for dinner?  Just talk and blog, it doesn't have to be serious.

My Other Blog is HERE

Don't F&*k with My Friends!

I am a peaceable guy, much rather kiss than fight.  I love a good argument.  I look at everything with a critical eye.  I have a certain suspicion about everything.  I hunt for motives.  I follow the money.  I try to separate fact from fiction and am always trying to remove emotions from an argument.  I never, ever make an argument personal.  An attack against a person always ends a discussion one way or another.
   I love my country and am critical of it at the same time.  It is one of the few countries in the world where people are attempting to break into, not leave its borders.  To imagine the World without the United States
is just imponderable to me.  Oh, we have made mistakes, that is for sure.  Done some things that maybe we shouldn't have and didn't do others that maybe we should have.  We do not conquer countries nor occupy them for long.  We liberate them and leave, hoping a chance for freedom will ignite the flame of liberty.
Some are suspicious of our military budget, huge, I admit but we have the military budget of the entire free world.  In the effort to free Lybia from the clutches of Gadafi the NATO forces lead by France ran out of ammunition after only three days!!!  Much of the world can laugh and be critical only because we are in the room.
   I like this country and don't agree with everything it does.  I like our elections, our free exchange of ideas, even some our our crazy candidates who run for office.  I like the Teabaggers and disagree with most of them.  I like the ultraconservatives and disagree with all of them.  I have friends of every persuasion.  When you are in a bar fight and someone comes to your aid, you never stop for identification.  I separate people from ideas and I support the right to every idea.
   Sometimes in the Blog World and sometimes in the real world, people will confuse their arguments or get on weak ground and do the equivalent of throwing stones.  It is the same as admitting that you have no argument, no real basis, no intellectual proof, no historical suppositions, so you are reduced to attacking the person.  Pretty weak.  I have no respect for that.
   We have lost a friend blogger this week.  Someone attacked her personally.  I have always believed that if you draw a circle limiting my access then I will draw a bigger circle to include you.  But if you pick on my friends, then you are picking on me.  If you want a fight, well then, here I am!

My Happier Stuff is HERE

Upside Down Bench Gives Birth!

Okay, I can't stay away.  The garden is weeded and some corn, a bit splotchy here and there, is up!

 concrete waiting to dry

The sun is out today and it will be a good day!  just like that and just because I said so! Attitude is everything, I know that, it is what allows me to carry whatever it is I want to carry. 
   Catchy headline, huh?  I am thinking of writing for the National Enquirer and have few words to catch your interest.  This is a true story though, it is what guys do.  It is interesting how men and women react to any kind of emotional issue, whatever it might be.  Women may cry or lose sleep or lose weight, talk with their friends, commiserate, that is a word women will understand more than a man. We are loners and just sort of suck it up. We are not good at talking "issues" and probably not much good at listening either.
  On a construction site if a guy were stupid enough to bare his soul and attempt to describe what was really bothering him, the response would be, "yeah, too bad, now let's get this roof on buddy."
It is not that we don't think while we are working.  We do, but we need the distraction. It is easier to feel our muscles ache than wondering the source of our tears.
   So, I made a bench!  It is all made from scrap and left-overs from my shop. I have made hundreds of benches in my life but don't own a single one. Most sold out of my shop before they were even finished.

 a slated bench

This one is mine!  It is steel, of course, with a concrete in-fill for the seat.  I think you can see how I do it from the photo. I am not sure how I will finish it, that remains to be seen. I could "paint" it, some kind of art paint stuff, or perhaps I will slate it.  It will have a back for sure, benches should encourage relaxing and contemplation.
   My benches are never rectangular,

<>

 Another bench that isn't mine!

 A "Painted" Bench

I leave those shapes to others. My only rules are flat, stable, heavy, comfortable, and never the same one twice.
This is the first "Painted" Bench I ever did and sold it while the paint was still wet.  If you are over 60 you might remember the song, "Sugar Shack".  The guy who wrote it is Jimmy Torres and you can google him for fun. He lives in Eugene, bought this bench from me and we have since become good friends.
Funny, the accidental things that happen in our lives!
More of my "stuff" is HERE.

Memorial Day

I know a lot of dead people and it seems like the older I get the more dead people I know.  Sometimes I think about them and realize that they have left something with me, some kind of laughter or smile, a lingering kiss, a criticism, my love of red, all bright colors, or remembering a particular food, a time or place, a shared connection.
   I have seen dead people and they leave immediately.  What was once the body of a strong and vibrant soul becomes frail and discarded and so much meat.  We always look smaller in death.  I think this is because we don't take everything with us when we go.
   I remember every one, old school teachers, friends lost in youth, friends who died recently, relatives and neighbors. I can hear them laugh, guide me when I trim a tree, console me when I need that, take my hand when I require comfort, criticize me when I become too serious and dance and sing with me as I experience joy.
   We set aside Memorial Day as a day to remember but I sometimes think that each and every day those who have died are watching us, guiding us, looking after us, and still loving us, each and every day.

My Enemies, My Friends

   The truth is I cannot see Russia from my back yard.  Did you know that Russia at one time "owned" Oregon?  Well, they had settlers here and laid claim to it.  I am pretty sure we bought it from them;  I know we didn't fire a shot and they didn't shoot at us either.  Maybe it was a part of the Alaska Purchase, a part of what we bought for a mere $200,000.  Pretty good deal for us!
   The Blog World is huge and tiny at the same time.  I have people (I think?) from all over the world stopping by although they don't always say "Hell-o".  I get the obvious hits from the United States and Canada but I get hits from all of Europe and Afghanistan, Iran, Russia and China.  I think how crazy and wonderful in this "Blogging World" we can meet and be friends, have arguments and discussions, share ideas and discover how very similar we are and we never fire a shot.
   It all reminds me of my youth and various travels, wandering from here to there, meeting strange people and having conversations in languages I could not understand.  Maybe I would meet someone from Somalia and we would have a drink in a bar in Germany and before we knew it we would be laughing at what we couldn't say but we became friends at least for the moment.
   I was young when I went on my "wanderyar", a mere seventeen years old but it was a big world and there was a lot I wanted to see.  I encourage young people today to travel as much as they can, not as tourists, but staying in a place, somewhere, anywhere, it makes no difference.  Meeting people, talking, helping where we can, discussing stuff and realizing we are all the same.  One people, one world.  The same tears you have, I have.  You can discover a lot while you are young, what is important in life and what isn't.
   Blogging is a bit like that, meeting someone in a bar, having a conversation and just seeing where it goes.
It is a different world where we can just stop by and say "Hi" or sit a spell and get to know each other, share ideas, thoughts, gardens, art, tears and joy.  We don't have to agree on everything but we never shoot each other!
   I hope blogging does not replace travelling but encourages it.  I hope that it reduces fear and makes us realize that over a cup of tea we are not so different after all.  As the world tries to isolate us, drawing circles of division, we can draw bigger circles, circles that encompass and include, circles to draw you in.

   On a different note, I am so busy now I can't believe it.  I have three jobs all going at the same time and am working seven days a week to get them done on time!  And, I just planted my tomatoes!  Nice to be busy and nice to be alive!
You can always visit me HERE!

Conversations with a Friend

I visit a friend of mine about once a week and he checks up on me too! I would like



to introduce him HERE



to you, you will enjoy



knowing him. We became friends almost instantly



about 20 years ago when I was lucky enough to have him working for me. He is "an old guy"



now and like me retired



from the construction industry. Ill let him tell his own stories but hope they will include how he met his wife who was also working for me, and the story how the two of them built a yacht and sailed "around the world" for five years or so, and his latest story, building high end hand crafted



guitars and mandolins. None of these reasons are why he is my friend. He is a crafstman and if he were building doghouses he would do so to perfection. His guitars are art because he makes them art.



It is all a little bit nuts of course and only works because he doesn't count the hours and loves what he is doing. When I visit him he will explain where he is at on his project, let me admire his craftsmanship and then offer me coffee and act as if my visit is the most important thing in the world! He is one of those few friends that we acquire in life who could give a true eulogy at your funeral but has the gracious sense not to!

They are open and honest and listened to converstions. We solve the world's problems and share our own. His name is EDWIN and you will like him too.