Technical Difficulties, Please Stand By

     I’ve been having some technical difficulties this week.  Most (all) of them are not hardware or software related but a direct result of wetware failure.  I guess that’s probably “old school” vernacular meant to describe the grey matter between the ears of the operator that enables a computer to become a useful tool.  I made my living programming computers for 24 years, but I swear that experience does not enhance the understanding of how Windows Live is supposed to work.  I really didn’t feel like I needed Windows Live.  After all I have Facebook and e-mail and I’m really not inclined to sit around and chat on-line with my peeps so I really didn’t feel the urgency to set it up.  But the stupid  little screen kept floating around getting in my way admonishing me to “easily stay connected with my contacts”, ”easily share photos and documents”, “easily manage all e-mail and social sites from one place” and about a hundred more easily attained advantages.  Finally, I could resist no longer.  Step one, another user id and password.  Just what I need is another user id and password to try to keep track of but, “Oh well, here we go again”.  That’s when things really started to get ugly. 

Nothing worked right.  When my new Hotmail account wouldn’t link to my old Gmail account, I created yet another new Hotmail account.  This time it worked, but the photo album I stored under the first account was not there anymore.  When I tried to add my contacts so I could send emails to them, it made me send them an invitation to be friends.  Why do I have to be friends with someone to send them an e-mail?  It was beginning to get dark when I finally got my email accounts, Facebook account, photos, contacts, and who knows what else situated.  The results were not necessarily good.

       I now have multiple email accounts which mean that your chances of having an address for me have doubled, but my chances of finding the mail you send have diminished considerably.  Each account has at least ten different folders to which your correspondence could be assigned.  But rest assured that if you ever receive anything from me, you can consider yourself my friend.   And if you ever send me anything there will be copies of it passed back and forth between my email accounts oh, probably from now on.  Facebook?  Just forget about me there.  You might as well just go ahead and block me now.  There are things showing up there beside my picture that I don’t even recognize.  When I push a button, I could be broadcasting to the whole world or I might send nothing at all.  It’s out of my hands now.  Forget about pictures.  They’re out there somewhere in an easily shared format and location, but I’ll never share them because I don’t know where the hell they went.  And documents.  Let’s not even go there.  If you get one from me, just press the delete key (except for this blog, of course).   I thought, well at least I can call or send text messages  to people to apologize for my cyber Tourette’s Syndrome tendencies.  But alas, I was wrong about that too. 

     My wireless provider started sending me text messages a few days ago that there was a software update for my cell phone.  The message explained that it was too large to be sent directly to the device and that I should follow a link on my computer that would step me through the process.  Well, to make a long story short, nothing worked very well there either, the end results being a message on my computer saying that my cell phone was not updateable.  I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been updateable when I started the process, but decided to write it off as technical difficulties rather than thinking that I may have been responsible for the dilemma.  After all, I’m a pretty smart guy.  I consider myself to be computer literate at least but not necessarily a total geek.   Maybe it was just a bad couple of days.  Maybe it had something to do with Zodiac or Karma or Fate.  All I know is it doesn’t really matter.  If my technical difficulties persist, you’ll probably never hear from me again anyway.  But hey, that might be a good thing.

Is Anyone Out There?

     Woohoo, I have a follower.  Some one is actually following this blog.  And not just someone, but a fellow vintner and blogger.  I have never met him but he is special to me because he took the time to click the button that allows him to follow my blog.  That is very empowering for me.  It gives me a glimpse into what it must feel like to have thousands or millions of people following your blog.  That is assuming that more followers would be more satisfying but I'll tell you right now, one feels pretty darn good.  I realize there are obstacles standing in the way of receiving any feedback from the social community in the form of the follow button, the comment block, and now, Google's +1 button.
     A major obstacle is that one must actually search for a blog or perhaps follow the link provided in the Facebook announcement that is posted each time a new installment is offered.  This takes effort and requires choices.  I realize that web users are exposed to many links and options that are vying for attention every day.  Some cost money, mine costs nothing.  Some are not worth what you have to pay for them, mine is almost always worth what it costs.  Some are interesting, mine... did I mention it is free?  So follow the link.  Re-post it to your friends. You don't have to like something to expose people to it.  If you did, the Internet would probably consist of only two or three pages.  Take Herpes for example.  Nobody likes it, but if you have it, you probably got it from a friend.  So pass it along, the link, I mean.  It can't be too much worse than Herpes.  The last person you passed Herpes to will like this more.
     Another obstacle that I see is commitment or more to the point, fear of it, especially in people of the on-line community.  If they weren't afraid of commitment they would probably have an actual life and wouldn't be posting their opinions and rants under some fictional username to avoid responsibility for a shameless attempt to gain approval from strangers... but wait, this part is supposed to be about you, not me.  Pushing that "follow" button is a big step.  It's almost like a marriage, albeit without intimacy (did I say almost)?  "Now I'm committed to read what that stupid blogger posts and what if I don't feel like reading or I don't have time or I'm doing something important?"  Calm down.  Even as a blog follower you have "certain unalienable rights", among them the comment button, the like button, the +1 button or, God forbid, the "unfollow option".  But I'll tell you right now, your opinion is as important to me as mine!  Honestly?  Well, no, but it is important and I would like to hear it.  If nothing else, an anonymous, "I was here. This stinks", would let me know someone looked. And just because you looked doesn't mean you have to read it.  Believe me when I say that I understand how difficult that can be.  Sometimes I actually have to read it myself after I've written it.
     There may be some other way to track if anyone is opening this page.  I think Google might be keeping statistics.  If that's true, never mind.  In the meantime, I definitely appreciate an audience so if you are a part of it, God bless you.  Of course in my opinion if you are a part of it, He already has.  I have never meant to offend anyone, only to be humorous.  So I will close with words that Will Rogers may have said had he been a witless blogger instead of a comedic megastar, "It ain't so much the jokes he writes that ain't funny, it's the way he writes them."

You Are What You Eat

I subscribe to the old saw, “You are what you eat”.  New cells are being created and nourished in our bodies all the time, and the only “raw material” that those cells can be built from is the food we eat.  I suppose we do absorb some things through our respiratory systems.  Nicotine and some inhaled medications, glaucoma relief, for instance, come to mind.  Also things can be absorbed through the skin, a concept that I’m always acutely aware of when swimming in a public pool or even a lake into which all the upstream cities have dumped their treated (I hope) waste.  But, primarily it’s the food we eat.  Logically though, if you are what you eat and you eat chicken, then you are also what the chicken ate.  Now, as a keeper of chickens, I have seen chickens eat some pretty disgusting things.  That is why I hate (love) talking about myself and especially what I’m made of.

While there may be some disgusting aspects to my composition, lately I have been making an effort to diminish that part and accentuate the positive.  I joined Weight Watchers in February.  Joined may not be completely accurate.  Bought my way into is more like it, but let’s not cloud the positive results with miserly carping.  Expensive as it may be, but probably no more than other programs, the results have been satisfying.  I have received an education in nourishment and an appreciation of dietary balance that has resulted in significant weight loss.  You probably already know the secrets, but here they are: more fiber and less fat, lots of protein and less empty carbohydrates, smaller portions, eat more often, but not between meal snacks. 

Even though I have not seen cattle eating the disgusting things that chickens eat, I have reduced my consumption of red meat and switched primarily to poultry and fish.  Not because I had to.  I never thought I’d say this, but because I just don’t crave meat as much anymore.  I’ve lowered my cholesterol and avoided or at least postponed diabetes monitoring and treatment.  There is now 10% less of me to love and while that may dismay many (nobody) I get a thrill every time I have to punch a new hole in my old belt.   I will probably wear it until I start tripping on the fraying excess.   While there is less of me, more of  what ‘s left is lettuce and cottage cheese instead of disgusting chicken food.  Oh, and don’t forget the fish.  I wonder what they eat?

The Third Day

A lot can happen in three days.  The Apostles Creed tells us concerning Christ, "The third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead."  That's a lot.  Of course, that was Christ.  This blog is about me.  It may not always be about me but for now it is.  Let's see, what else took three days?  I guess it took that long to build Rome.  I'm just guessing, well, educated guessing, because I know "Rome wasn't built in a day".  So it must have taken longer than that.  I'm  guessing three days.  On the third day, they built the Colosseum. And from then on the price of admission for a major sporting event was approximately equivalent to an arm and a leg and still is.  The Apollo space missions took about 3 days to get from the Earth to the Moon (actually a little longer but the three day theme is working for me here) and another 3 days to get back from the Moon to the Earth. So, it's true, a lot can happen in three day
     A lot (nothing) has happened to me in the past 3 days.  I woke up from a night's sleep 3 times.   That's huge after 3 heart attacks, numerous angioplasties and a quadruple by-pass.  I admit it's not sitting at the right hand of God judging the quick and the dead but then I'm not sure I'd like doing that anyway.  I mean, I have trouble trying to decide what to eat for breakfast.  That's why I have oatmeal every morning.  Imagine trying to decide who lives and who dies... well, you get the idea.  I'm just glad that's left in more qualified hands. 
     I fed 18 goats and 300 chickens.  More accurately, I fed 3 goats and 50 chickens 6 times.  I hit 96 tennis balls for my dog to chase, 4 balls 24 times each.  I carried out 2 bags of trash, set the trash cans out by the curb and recovered them after they were emptied.  I worked out twice, went to the doctor once, bought groceries twice, took 39 pills and was voted into the Country Music Hall of Fame.  Actually that last one did not really happen, I just wished that it did.  But the accomplishment that I am most proud of is that I was able to update this blog three days in a row.  For a person of limited accomplishment, this has been very satisfying.  I hesitate to say that I will be able to sustain this pace but at least I don't feel quite so awkward any more.  I think this is going to be OK.  A lot can happen in three days.  I hope you agree.

Hot Wings: The Girls of Summer

It's hard, even for me, to believe that I've been a resident of Oklahoma for over 30 years now.  In all of that time, I've always thought the summers were a little too hot, but mild short winters, compared with say, Wisconsin or Minnesota, whose winters probably shaped (warped) my view of climate for life, seemed to make up for the excesses of summer.  But not this year. This year has been hot and dry.  So far, and that is not  very far at all into this long summer season, every day in June has been over ninety degrees with most in the high nineties and temperatures in excess of 100 degrees predicted for the rest of June.  This is the kind of weather usually reserved for late July and August.  So the fire danger is getting higher and the tolerance for heat is getting lower every day.  In a concealed carry state, that can be a formula for disaster.  But my concern is not so much for getting shot as it is for my "girls", my hens.
     Bless their little hearts, they walk around in the heat all day with the equivalent of a feather comforter wrapped around them, looking for a cool place.  In their minds, that translates into any place that we have planted, or thought about planting, a flower or vegetable.  Some of the favored spots include the half barrel type planters that we use to grow patio tomatos.  I put some potting soil in them and went into the house for a drink of water.  When I came back out, there was at least one chicken in each one, two in some, and all rolling and kicking in dirt bathing bliss.  All the flower beds have been defoliated and turned into chicken bathing wilderness.  I built fences around the vegetable patches to save them from the same fate.  To help the girls stay cool, I've started bringing them in the house.  I pick them up two at a time and bring them in and sit down under the ceiling fan in the air conditioned living room until they cool off.  When a neighbor dropped by this afternoon I said, "Come on in and sit where it's cool for a while."  He seemed a little surprised when I picked up two of my girls and brought them in.  When he asked me about it, I explained that I bring them in two at a time for twenty minutes or so to cool them off.  "How many chickens do you have?", he asked.  "Oh, I guess about 50 or so", I replied.  "Well doesn't that take an awful long time?" , he asked.  What an idiot I thought as I said "Shoot, man, time don't mean nothing to a chicken!"

Launch This Submarine

     The champagne has been cold for some time now.  There is a pretty girl on the platform ready to break the bottle.  It's time for the official launching of this blog site.  The question remains, as it has for some time in my mind, will this effort be sustainable?  How will the person with the dullest life imaginable be able to find anything interesting to blog about and will I find the fortitude to sit down and ooze witticisms and wisdom on a daily basis.  I have tried journaling before.  In fact, I just unpacked a notebook from a box of old papers in the garage that contained an introduction to journaling for the rest of my life (not unlike this very effort) in which I promised to faithfully scribe the events of each future day.  The introduction, however, is the only thing in the journal, the remaining blank pages a silent testimony to my absolute failure in that noble endeavor.
     So understanding the danger, having experienced utter failure in the past, and with faint heart and mild trepidation, I say, "Let's get on with it."  The last time, I recall being afraid someone might find it and read it.  This time, I'm afraid they won't.  I have long held the notion that someday I would acquire the habit of sitting down to write every day.  Today might just be that day.  I know after reading this you are probably saying, "Don't quit your day job!"  And don't worry, if I had one I wouldn't.  So go ahead and break the champagne, knock out the chocks, and let's hit the water with a huge splash.  If it sinks, after all, it is a submarine.