What comes to mind when you see or hear the number “61”? Or how about “62”?
I hesitate to admit my answers here, because it has to do with my continued denial of the reality of the passage of time. Said passage of time has been said to speed up as one gets older, and while I hate to admit that, I can verify it, not that I’m old or anything.
It doesn’t seem that much time has passed, but 53 years ago, Roger Maris hit 61 home runs in 1961. Yes, I remember that well. I was nine years old, and I was a great baseball fan, so much so that I wanted to be a major league player when I grew up. That dream folded in high school when I found out I couldn’t hit curve balls, and I didn’t have much of an arm. But we were talking about “61” and Roger Maris. Even though I didn’t particularly like the Yankees, his pursuit of Babe Ruth’s record, with Mickey Mantle sticking with him most of the season, made for an interesting year. My team was the Pittsburgh Pirates, who the preceding year won what to me is still the most memorable World Series, one of the very few times when my favorite team in any sport won the championship.
So that is perhaps what comes to mind for a lot of you when you think of “61”, but the majority of you probably didn’t even know or care about that, and you may be going on to something else on the web, because of the realization of how old I am. Yes, I remember being in my twenties and thirties and thinking someone who is over 40 is old, and not someone I could relate to. Thirty years from now, you’ll be wondering where the time went all of a sudden, and you’ll be in denial of how old you are.
Yes, I am 61, and almost 62. And doing a creditable job of denying it.
Sixty-two is potentially retirement age, but won’t likely be for me. I will never really retire, even if I stop having a regular job. There’s too much to do. I will continue to write, unless my brain gets addled. I’ll always have projects to work on around the house, until I’m not able to do them anymore. I suppose that time could creep up on me more suddenly that I expect. My kids will be hauling me out of this house, saying I need to move to a retirement or assisted living place, and I won’t believe that I’m old enough to go to one of those places.
I’m glad to be a part of Gospel for Asia’s Blog for Asia program, where once or twice a month I’ll write about something that really matters. There are many needs in the world, but I’ll be focusing on some of those who have been trapped in a cycle of poverty for generations.
In southern Asia, a group of people known as the Dalits are considered “Untouchables” by those who are considered to be of the higher classes. Some people don’t even consider them to be human. They aren’t able to get decent jobs or even an education, and their children can be sold into slavery of different kinds. They often look through the garbage just to find something to eat or something to sell.
Gospel for Asia has a program called Bridge of Hope that gives these children the opportunity to get an education, and they also are fed, clothed, and given medical care. They are also introduced to Jesus and the love he has for them. Please consider watching this video (www.gfa.ca/sponsorachild/rescue) and see if you would like to help change the life of one of these children.
Some things, I don’t say many things, I can do well. Some things I can do okay. And there are some that I never get right.
Everybody, at least everybody in the Midwest who has a lawn, knows how to deal with weeds. They know when to use weed and feed and how to apply it, using the correct setting on the spreader in order to end up with the right amount of product on the grass and weeds. They have confidence that they will get it right, without hurting nearby flowers, and the result will be a beautiful, green weed-free lawn surrounded by wonderful, healthy tulips and daffodils.
Maybe it’s because I’m not a native Midwesterner (and the weeds know that), or perhaps I didn’t grow up with an innate hatred of weeds, or the need to have a perfect lawn. Maybe I’m just a failure at life.
Whatever the reason, every year I get it wrong. Either I put it on at the wrong time, I put on too much, or not enough. Every year the dandelions win, and I lose. We don’t have a yard totally overrun by weeds, but they’re still there. Sometimes the weeds put on a show of wilting for a little while, so I begin to think I won, but then they recover. I can see them smirking at me.
If I get up early to put it on when the dew is still there, the sun comes up a little quicker than usual and dries out the grass so the stuff won’t stick to the weeds like it’s supposed to. Sometimes I’ve hosed down the lawn beforehand, but that didn’t help. Other times it rained right after and washed it all away. Some years as I kept watching the weather in order to do it when rain wasn’t imminent, that day never came, and weeds ended up unscathed. And they laughed at me.
The Bare Spot with a Big Weed in it
A bare spot that has always been in our yard is alleged to have developed because I spilled weed and feed there, which is possible. I remember that spot being a pitcher’s mound (not really a mound, but the place the pitcher stood) when teaching my boys baseball. I think we’ve tried to plant grass there. Our dog used to like lying there, too. Now it’s a place for weeds to grow.
This morning I got up early to apply the weed and feed while the dew was on the grass. It seemed to go all right, but I doubt if it did. I guess we’ll see if the grass is still green tomorrow or if the weeds are starting to wilt. Not likely. Well, they might wilt a little bit, but they’ll be back. If I actually killed the weeds, the grass will probably be dead too. I wouldn’t put it past the weeds to be willing to make that sacrifice.
Evil Invasive Weed with lots of Weed’n’Feed clinging to its Impudent Little Body
This is a continuation of my last story, A Night in a Canoe, although a different adventure:
Later that summer we had a new canoe trip, this time with Dave and another Bob, Bob M. Between Bremerton and Seattle is Blake Island which is a state park and is only accessible by boat. Our plan was to spend a night there, continue on to Seattle, head back to the west, spend the second night on Bainbridge Island at Fay Bainbridge State Park, and then go all the way around the north end of Bainbridge Island and back home to Bremerton.
After a late start we headed for Echo Passage, which is actually a part of Rich Passage. We passed the lighthouse at the entrance to the passage and Namu’s inlet. This is the point that a ferry from Bremerton to Seattle disappears from sight from someone viewing from my home in Bremerton.
We arrived at Blake Island as the light was beginning to fade. Landing on the northeastern side of the island, we set up camp. It appeared that we were the only ones there so we proceeded to joke around and make lots of noise. Finally we climbed into our sleeping bags and fell asleep.
Blake Island with Mount Rainier behind it
The next morning we woke up at the crack of dawn and prepared for our departure on the next stage of our journey. As we looked around us we wondered how all those other people got there. Then we loaded up our canoe and snuck away.
Seattle didn’t look very far away as we slowly paddled in its direction. But it took a long time before it actually looked closer. We gradually crept up on Alki Beach on the southern shores of Elliot Bay, which is the harbor of Seattle. Landing on the sandy beach, we got out, stretched, and surveyed the territory. Downtown Seattle was still a pretty long canoe ride away, and going there would make it hard to complete our planned two day adventure.
We opted to cross directly from where we were to the north side of Elliot Bay and from there continue to Bainbridge Island. This was probably the second stupidest thing we ever did. Out in the middle of the Bay we were 3 dummies in a canoe in the territory of tug boats with big waves, ocean liners with big waves and ferry boats with big waves. And all of them were a lot bigger than canoes. But we were intrepid adventurers. We were terrified.
A few hours later we landed on the north shore of the bay which seemed to be a neglected part of the city. There were a few shacks on the beach that looked like they could fall apart, but I think people lived in them. We disembarked briefly to give our buns a rest and stretch our legs, but then it was straight across Puget Sound to Fay Bainbridge State Park. This was another grueling ride that took longer than it looked like it should.
The water was beginning to get a little rough and night was upon us as we approached the park. We took on some water as we landed, and some of our sleeping bags got wet. We got a fire going to cook a meal and to dry out the bags. Dave’s bag got too close to the fire and got a little burned. At this point I believe we may have been getting tired of our adventure, although great adventurers hate to admit to such a thing, and especially that they might want to sleep in their comfortable beds at home. Whatever the reasoning, we got back in the canoe and headed north along the eastern shore of Bainbridge Island. I think it was about 10:00 pm.
I don’t think we realized how far it was around the northern end of the island. If we had, we probably would have slept in our wet sleeping bags. This turned out to be the stupidest thing we ever did.
At the northern end of the island, we paddled along in a fairly narrow passage with calm water. If we shined a flashlight into the water, little fish would jump against the boat. This was the last enjoyable part of the trip.
As we rounded the last point to where we could see our side of Puget Sound (which should have been a very welcome sight) the water became rough. It wasn’t just mildly rough. It was very rough, the kind of rough a small boat shouldn’t be in, especially a canoe. We felt we had no choice but to continue toward home and our warm beds.
I was the in the stern of the ship as the steersman, Dave was in the bow as the scout, and Bob sat on a box in the middle of the boat. Our plan was for me to steer us directly across to the other side, but the storm wouldn’t let me go that way. The waves carried us along more in the direction of home, so we ended up angling our way to the other side. We wanted to take the shortest route to get to safety on the opposite shore, but we ended up being carried more in the direction we needed to go towards home.
The ordeal of crossing Elliot Bay doesn’t compare with this one of being carried by huge waves in the dark of night, well past our bed time, in a narrow canoe with three 18 year old guys, great adventurers who wanted to go home. We wondered if we would get a chance to see home again. Panic tried to set in, but didn’t get a chance. We were too busy fighting the waves.
Probably a half hour or hour later we reached the other side and continued paddling with the current toward home, passing Illahee State Park, and then all the familiar landmarks closer to my house.
We were plenty sore and tired as we reached the end of our adventure at about 4 a.m. Dave said as we pulled the canoe out of the water, “The next time we decide to do something like this, let’s just torture ourselves instead.”
Shortly after our high school graduation, my friends, Dave and Bob J., and I decided to see what it would be like to stay out all night in a canoe. I lived on the waterfront and we had a canoe, so it could be done.
We shoved off from the shore and headed for the other side of the bay. Our side is Bremerton. The other side is the other side, where foreigners from South Kitsap County live. I’m not sure how far it is across, maybe a mile. Being on the other side was like being in a different country, one that could be seen from your own, but one you wouldn’t want to live in. But it could be visited by boat, and explored and conquered for the motherland. That was our first mission of the night, to cross over and stake claim to this wild and unconquered territory.
The Foreign Territory to be Conquered
Once that was accomplished we once again set sail, following the coast of our new domain until we came to a narrow passage. At this place is a little inlet, once made famous by Namu the killer whale who was kept there for a time.
Farther along we made the discovery of Echo Passage, a place where if you yelled anything on a very calm night at say, 1:00 in the morning, the very same thing would be yelled back at you. We were very proud of this discovery, and amazingly made it past this place with no attacks by the sleeping natives. Who knows how many of their curses we fell under.
Now on the other side of this passage is an island, Bainbridge Island. Of course, this too had to be conquered, which was done with no loss of life and no resistance from the natives. From there we headed back more in the direction of home. To continue as we were would lead us to Seattle, and we didn’t feel we had the time or the manpower to lay siege there. That had to be left for another adventure.
We followed the coast of the island for a while and then headed back to our side of the bay. On our way there I saw a fireball meteor. I could actually see fire coming off it as it fell toward the earth.
We landed at Illahee State Park and began our exploration as an army troop seeking out the enemy, one like you might see in the movies. We were in character, and Bob J. assumed command under the name of Monroe. He led us well, but all discipline broke down when Dave, who probably had a name like Kilroy, called him “Marilyn.”
Mount Rainier behind the Conquered Lands
By this time we were getting pretty tired. We slowly paddled our trusty craft back home as the sun came up over Bainbridge Island. Mount Rainier glowed orange as it towered over the trees on the far side of the bay. We landed back at the home base around 5:00. The other two headed for their homes and I went to bed.
My wife and I went for a walk today along the Fox River, which is mostly frozen these days. This winter has been colder than most in recent memory, but we haven’t wanted to let it keep us from enjoying the exercise and scenery. The temperature was slightly below zero when we left the house.
I generally like warm weather better than cold, and this winter has made me miss the days of global warming. My intention isn’t to enter the debate about whether or not there is such a thing. There are plenty of people on both sides who know they are right, and everyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. No, I just prefer warmer weather. However, I’ve found that even sub-zero isn’t a big deal if you’re dressed warmly. The only real casualty was my face as the wind chills made it hard to form coherent words. I suppose my wife didn’t notice any difference.
One thing we’ve been enjoying on our winter walks is the return of the eagles. Lots of them make their nests along the river, especially at this time of year. Today we saw six or seven, including two in a tree.
We also saw two hawks, a robin, a cardinal, and a black squirrel. Oh yeah, and there were some ducks out on the unfrozen part of the river. We also saw some flying, and after seeing the eagles gliding so easily, it looked like the ducks were putting way too much effort into flapping their wings.
I’ve been wondering if the birds feel the cold at all. Do they miss global warming? Up there where the eagles were soaring, it had to be a lot colder than where we were, but I didn’t hear them complain. They looked like they were enjoying themselves.
Not long ago, my wife called me at work to tell me where I could find the car. “Oh, great,” I said, because that must mean our car was broken down somewhere. It’s our only car at present, because we’re letting our daughter use our good vehicle. Besides that, we recently put two somewhat faithful old cars to sleep. They had served us and our six kids pretty well for many years.
I’ve been riding my bicycle to work, which is about three miles one-way. After work, I rode home, had dinner, and then rode to where the car was waiting, which was not too far. My wife had told me the exhaust had fallen and was dragging on the ground, so I brought some wire to wire it back up. I was hoping it wasn’t anything serious, which would mean getting a whole new exhaust. This car isn’t worth what it would cost to install a new exhaust.
As I drew near to the place, I was dreading what I would find. I don’t have a lot of confidence about working on cars, so I wasn’t sure if it would be something I could temporarily fix, or if I’d have to drive it home with the muffler dragging on the ground.
As I turned onto the street where the car was parked, I saw a light under the car. “What’s that all about,” I wondered. Coming to the back of the car, I found an older man under it, wiring up the muffler. He crawled out from underneath and said, “Can I help you?” I smiled and said, “It’s my car.” He seemed a little embarrassed being caught working on my car, but explained that he saw the car there in front of his house with the muffler hanging down, and thought someone probably wouldn’t want to come back to the car after work and find the muffler on the ground.
All I could say was, “Wow, thanks a lot.” Many times. I asked him his name, and he said it was Dave. Some folks might think it wasn’t any of his business to work on the car of someone he didn’t know, but I say God bless Dave. A lot.
Yesterday I wrote about my not-too-good book covers, and I posted a link to where you can see my new cover for Volume 2. I uploaded a new one to Smashwords, because Volume 2 was in more need of a change than Volume 1.
Today I’ve uploaded a new cover for Volume 1. Once I’ve made the change at Kindle and with Create Space (for the printed versions), I’ll change them on this website. I guess I would like to see what the reaction is, if any. I may be deluding myself, but I think the new ones are quite a bit better.
I’m open to any comments. I may not let all the comments be visible, being as this is a family-friendly site, but I’d like to have some honest feedback.
A concerned reader recently asked if my book cover was designed by a kid. Ha ha! That’s not a bad idea! It probably would be better. Actually, I think the question was insulting to kids in general. The reader said my cover was dreadful. I’m not sure which one he or she was referring to, but the I don’t deny it for either book. I especially think the Volume 2 cover stinks.
I have been in the process of redesigning the covers. Yes, I am the designer. No, I’m not an artist. I’m a writer. I’ve never been good at art. So, you might ask, why would I design the covers? Why don’t I hire a kid to do it? I guess it comes down to not being able to afford to hire a kid or anyone else until I start selling enough books.
That brings up the next problem. People judge books by their covers. They generally won’t even look at the description if the cover doesn’t look appealing. So if nobody likes my cover, they probably won’t buy the book, so I may be forever stuck with bad book covers and selling no books.
Hopefully my next one will be better, and I uploaded a new one for Volume 2 to Smashwords to see how it goes over. You can see it here. It will take a while, but my plan is to have new covers for both books in the print and ebook form.
And I hope when Volume 3 is finished (which is not very soon), it will start out with a decent cover.
Many thanks to those of you who read my books in spite of the covers.
Smashwords, one of my ebook publishers, is having a big promotion this month. I’m participating in it, so my books will be discounted. Volume 1, which is normally $0.99, will be free with the coupon code SW100. Volume 2, normally $2.99, will be $1.50 with this code: SSW50.
Many authors will be discounting their books this month, so it’s a good time to check it out.
Love's Notes 