Category Archives: Ramblings by Jack

While you’re washing your hands you may be sterilizing your life and not your hands

‘You are not safe’ is a poster that popped up all over Seattle today 9/27/2017 according to our local channel 6 news broadcast. Then the national news with Lester Holt says that food allergies for adults are on the rise. And just in, on our local news is a course on bike safety for the younger set. All of this barrage of worry news in just the first half hour of 2 hours of ” ain’t it awful news.” So what do you get from this bombardment of unsettling news? If you’re lucky and are endowed with an attitude that says I’m healthy until I’ve got a temperature and my Doctor says you need one of these pills and some rest. But if you’re not grounded with a healthy attitude then I suspect if I went to your house and looked into your medicine cabinet it would be completely full of every conceivable elixir.  After taking a handful of these pills you’d feel better until you happen to pass your T.V. set, on your way out the door. But wait a minute, one of your favorite daytime Soaps stops you. The doctor is telling some poor soul that he has some incurable disease and in the blink of an eye you have all the same symptoms and that feel good feeling is gone and you’re left wondering if you’ll see another day tomorrow.
Hypochondriac, a person who is abnormally anxious about their health, add to that a constant stream of slogans to keep you safe BE CAREFUL, WATCH OUT, DON’T GET HURT, WHAT YOU’RE DOING IS DANGEROUS and I’m sure there are many more warnings that are meant to be helpful but there is a cost. For many it’s a start to a learned behavior that begins with what can go wrong instead of what can go right. Life becomes a constant game of dodging every predicament because taking a risk might uncover a broken body hidden in your mind.
What a terrible way to live a life. I know because I’m a recovering Hypochondriac that made each day a day spent escaping death. So how did I start to break this life draining habit ? Remember habits are learned and can be broken. The best time to begin is now, so for starters how about not washing your hands next time you feel the urge and pass up the hand sanitizer at your local grocery store then sing a few bars of your favorite feel good song while all the time your wearing a smile.
See Ya
Jack

Are Brain Farts hazardous to your health?

Well, they can be if not treated. And how does one treat a Brain Fart? By reducing cranial pressure.

It is not done by the usual method of letting Methane Gas out the “ole Bung Hole.” The kind of Fart you try to slide out quietly because you’re at a rather fashionable dinner party, but to no avail, this one leaves with enough force to blow right past the sphincter muscle to then rattle ones cheeks and exit with a pulsating beat that would make a Belly Dancer proud. And to make matters worse there’s a guy at my table who can’t let any opportunity like this pass and says “Good going Jack that was a real Ripper, one you can be proud of.” Then this guy proceeds to double over and lets out a Belly laugh that’s very infectious which gets the rest of party laughing with many tears rolling down their laughing cheeks and some are now pointing at me and holding their noses. Well I might say this is certainly one way for members of the dinner party to reduce their Brain Fart pressure in  a very healthy way because laughter is always good for whatever ails a person.
But now to my more serious side. I want to write about what a Brain Fart is. It’s a kind of unrelenting self imposed pressure that builds as we refuse to recognize that our thoughts are a big part of the problem. Brain Farts in order to not harm our Grey Matter, must be defused by changing the way we react to our daily quota of problems. It’s about learning new habits that don’t raise your blood pressure, or make you feel like a sad sack, or wearing a brow that is furrowed all the time. It’s about being willing to step out of your comfort zone and into the land  of “maybe things can be better, it’s up to me”
So when did the pressure get so intense in my head that I had to do something even if it was wrong. I think that happened about the time I entered the early years of my 40ties ( probably a cousin to the midlife crazies). The first thing that came to mind as a possible cure was exercise and it wasn’t long before my Type A personality took over and each day I found myself running a little farther until I was running in a half Marathon and before it was even over I was dreaming of spending my days wherever there was another marathon that would give me the Endorphin High that felt really good, but it was very short lived. So my Brain Fart Pressure Gauge kept climbing ever higher. The idea that maybe a touch of alcohol might do the trick as it’s always available and there were millions of my species that were practicing with it everyday. But for me drugs or alcohol as a solution just didn’t ring true. My thought was that they just masked a Brain Fart and a Hang Over was always a reminder that I was probably on the wrong path.

Unrelieved Pressure had been building in me for most of my life as I tried to please all the people I came in contact with. Wanting to own all the land that joined our V6 ranch and the cattle to stock it. To work 100 hour weeks, year after year with no side effects, add in a number of Panic Attacks. Put them all together and I finally realized that burning the candle at both ends wasn’t going to work much longer.
I think there are as many self help books out there as their are cook books and I don’t cook. Thus, over the course of the next several years I acquired mostly hand me down self help books from friends that had found knowledge and enlightenment from their printed words.  I now have a stack that comes about up to my waist. What I found, was that from each author I got a smidgeon of hope for a possible new me that would be much more “user friendly”.
I followed books with some trips to the psychiatric world. I spent some time with a few psychologists,  then tried T.M.(transcendental meditation), acupuncture, some Yoga and found a couple of the less than traditional churches that were most helpful. About the only industry out there I didn’t try was the Fortune Teller, Fortune cookie world.
But for me, what turned out to be the most, result effective and affordable cost wise, was when I discovered Support Group Network that was taught by Dr. Robert Simmons. The initial meeting got right to the point. Pick some people around you that you don’t know, no spouses allowed, and this would form my new found group of friends. My group started out with 13 members all wanting to relieve Brain Fart Pressure in their Craniums.  I’m going to skip over the finer points. Basically it is a safe haven to discuss anything and everything except Criminal activity without being judged, only given help by the others in the group and only if you wanted it. Our group of 13 needed a name to rally around somebody said E.G.B.OK. Which is pronounced egg bock = everything is going to be okay  and after 5 years of meeting every Monday night at different members houses the last 5 of us each had done his or her work. We looked at each other and felt satisfied and content with our new and very different persons, I know I did. We never met again. That 5 year chapter in my life gave me the knowledge and confidence to know that I was a real E.G.B.OK.
What happened to the other 8 members? I think for each that departed along the way they either got what they wanted or this format was not for them as our numbers diminished a little each year.
Boy did I have a lot of skeletons in my closet. But as I took each one out over those 5 years and exposed it to the light of day and started giving the “Old heave ho” to each one, my Brain Fart Pressure would go down a little and It sure felt good. It wasn’t easy as most left unwillingly, bucking and kicking and swearing to return. So one will reappear now and then. But I recognize them rather quickly and tell them that their not welcome in my mind anymore. I seldom feel the need to change myself or the world anymore. I’m satisfied with just a little tweaking to hopefully stay relevant with the times. That does it for me folks. It makes all that reconstructing time very worthwhile. So to all of you out their in blog land suffering from Brain Fart Fever, relief is just a choice away for there are better drummers to march to.
See Ya
Jack

Are we ready for the electric car?

I have before me a copy of New Times dated 9/28/17. The Opinion page has an article stating that Californians can steer the world into not being dependent on fossil fuel. Couple this article and a Sunday drive my wife and I took a few weeks ago to have lunch at Harris Ranch Restaurant. As I entered the parking lot I drove toward what looked to be several parking spots. Much to my surprise it was about 20 spots all with electrical plugs to charge the batteries of some of our new electric cars today, mostly being Teslas’s. My curiosity was peaked so I called Siri who told me that a Tesla model S could get a 240 mile charge at a fast D.C. Charging station for about $10 and 1 hour of a persons time.
Our present day gas or diesel engines have always been able to be refueled in a matter of 10 minutes or less. Having to wait for an hour or more will put a dagger into the heart of the electric automobile. Most people are not patient enough especially those that have a bad case of “road rage” to wait the hour. I think that the only way to attain this kind of time frame is to have a service that will replace your de-pleated battery for one that is fully charged.
So how do you do this? The starting place is our state government, for I believe that you must have 3 battery sizes and not many more than that, that are of a universal design and plug attachment. Then all the Electric car manufacturers can let their imaginations run wild and design their cars around these standard batteries. Doing the battery design first and making each one identical lends itself to the robot that comes out to greet you and ask if you are ready for a fully recharged battery. Yes I say, and in the blink of an eye out comes another robot that swings an arm under my car, unlatches my now electron dead battery, drops it down a few inches and moves it to a recharging area. Now, from the other side of my car another Robot moves quickly with fresh battery in hand and lifts it into place. All this happens in the same or less time than it takes to fill your car with that old toxic stuff we used to call gasoline.
I believe that the writing is on the wall whether big oil likes it or not. The electric car is here to stay. I think that selling fully charged batteries and charging the dead ones is a perfect fit for our present day service stations and or the quick lube stores that can be found in most towns.
If we consumers really get behind the electric car we are talking about starting a totally new industry. Much like 100+ years ago when Henry Ford started making Model T Fords by the millions. Only this time we won’t be polluting our atmosphere, our oceans and the land we live on. By using electricity as our “Work Horse of the 21st Century” instead of fossil fuels we will all be better served.
This new and much yet to be discovered industry can dwarf the Fossil Fuel industry of the 20th Century so WHY DON’T WE GIVE IT A GOOD OL’E AMERICAN TRY !!!
See Ya
Jack

 

Happy doesn’t just happen

The 2 hardest topics for me to write about are writing using humor that makes a reader want to chuckle and maybe even laugh out loud. The other is to describe my ideas “on being happy” of how I slide in and out of that place in my mind that causes me to feel happy. For me it’s not a feeling that can be maintained for long periods of time as my Webster’s New World Dictionary say’s that I will enjoy feelings of great pleasure, contentment and joy. Well that’s a place I know most of us would like to spend our lives but reality says that’s not possible, so for me what is possible?
If a person could draw a straight line in his or her mind and label it “Satisfied” for me that is realistically where I can hang my hat. My desire will be to live on the high side of the line. What’s nice as I get older is that I find as long as my health holds out it gets easier to stay on the high side. So what’s on the High side of “satisfied”? That’s where giving, passion for your work, sense of humor, honesty, truthfulness, dependable, positive attitude, can except blame and I’m sure there are others that a person will think are important. Now, just because you tallied up all these qualities and can own most all of them doesn’t guarantee that you will always stay on the high side. We’re all allowed those times when a boat load of disappointments makes “below the line look attractive” take a deep breath and look up to see that those clouds of blighted hope have a Silver Lining. Now it’s just a matter of leaving your woes behind and step over the line to the high side and hilarious happiness will be yours and then in the course of time you will return to that sustainable satisfied mind. If these qualities are mostly missing from your personality I think you will find yourself living most all of your time below the line. Down where lying and cheating are common, where jealousy and envy are part of the mosaic and selfishness is always in full view. I could spend more time pointing out our lousy side but I think we all know that happiness found here will be measured in nanoseconds. I don’t know if minds will be changed but I’ve clarified in my mind that as look back over 82 years of life I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed my journey.

 

 

See ya,

Jack

Urban Myth

   If you wanted to find me on the 23rd day of September 2017 I was at The Parkfield Rodeo arena where the first of the season California High School Rodeo was taking place. I had just been introduced to Linda who is the mother of a new couple that decided that they would like to work their way around the United States and get a closer look at our wonderful U.S.A.Their first stop is Parkfield after driving all the way across the country from their home in Virginia.

This beautiful valley surrounded by The Diablo mountains and the wonderful people that lived here then as now is what also attracted Zee and I to this promised land 56 years ago. Ian and Paige have decided to stay on and hopefully they to, might also choose to make a life in Parkfield.

            Linda with her friend David had come to visit for a few days as they have been 5 weeks on the road discovering America. Linda, wanting to understand how all the different Rodeo events worked, was curious in the bucking events. It’s only natural that a lot of attention would center around The bucking horses and bucking bulls. Linda said “I understand that to make the bulls buck, you have to tie a rope around their BALLS then they’ll buck”. I said “this could not be farther from the truth”, but I bet I know where it got started. Organizations like People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals P.E.T.A. This organization thrives on fake news and taking things said and pictures taken out of context to advance their agenda.

I would like to paint a word picture that is fiction but demonstrates how a truth might be known.

             

“Yes operator, I would like the telephone number for the P.E.T.A. organization and would you put me through to their main office, thank you.”

“How may I help you.”

“I would like to speak with someone that has authority to send a P.E.T.A. representative to the next Professional Bull Riding event in Oklahoma to witness a bull being readied to try to buck his rider off.”

“Hello, yes we will get back to you shortly so give me your telephone number and we’ll return your call.”

“Thank you, goodbye.”

Well I thought that will be the last I hear from them. They just blew me off. Several days go by when my phone rings.

“Hello, who am I speaking to?”

“Hi, I’m the gentleman in charge of verifying things like this.We will be sending a young man by the name of Casper Milk-Toast to your event.”

“Would you say his last name again?”

“It’s spelt just like it sounds, Milk, like you drink and bread that comes out of a toaster is toast, Casper Milk-Toast.”

“I understand that your P.B.R. Bull riding is next weekend and so we will have Casper arrive about 2 hours before the performance, goodbye.”

             

The day of the event arrived.

“Welcome Mr. Milk-Toast you’re right on time. I see you have brought a nice camera with you, but I don’t know if you’re going to need it. So let’s go Casper I’ve only got 2 hours for you to master your new occupation. I’ll lead the way over to the bucking chute and we’ll load a bull for you to practice on.”

Casper looks at me with a somewhat bewildered look on his face and says “I came to watch one of your crew do it, not me!”

“Well Casper we don’t have anybody here that ties ropes around the balls of one of these bulls, so I’m depending on you to teach us how it’s done.”

Casper Milk-Toast’s face now has fear written all over it as he asks if we have a rest room available. “Yes Casper, down the hall and to your left.”

Wouldn’t you know it! That’s the last time we ever saw Casper Milk-Toast. If he had stayed for the regular performance he would’ve realized that the rope is tied around the flank area which is just in front of the back legs. This is a bulls tickle spot and helps them to do what comes naturally “bucking cowboys off”

                              See Ya

                               Jack

An image I took from the P.B.R Bull Riding which is televised live every year. Here you can clearly see the rope tied around the flank or ‘tickle spot’ of the bull

Is their utility in a Pot belly?

About 6 months ago a Pot Belly showed it’s self just above my hips. How did I notice it? It was brought to my attention when I bent over to tie my shoes, I noticed my toes were missing. Bending further they finally showed themselves. I’m really kidding, you and I both know it’s been about a year or more that my favorite belt buckle that “once upon a time” spent the day with its head held high, now spends the day holding up my pants while all the time it’s looking at my shoes.

         It’s 1/6/17 and we that have a flaw or two are going through our annual drill of making New Years resolutions to erase said flaws. I’m sad to say that many have already “fallen off the wagon” and the experts tell me that by the end of 2017 the other 98% will have followed leaving an empty wagon except for all the “good intentions” that are still firmly seated waiting for the class of 2018 to see if they can beat the odds. Proof will come by showing that their old cloths that have spent the last eon on cloths hangers or in bottom drawers now once again fit.

            I have a curiosity though. What if I find myself in the 98% that fail? Well here it is, it’s mid-October and I would have to say that I’m still among the ranks of that 98% that are failing the course on ‘Self Improvement’ as my toes are still hidden most of the time. But I think the time has come to turn failure into a good thing. I’ve got it! Yes, by gollies I’m sure I’ve got it! I’m going to look under my belt for those hidden advantages that can make a Pot belly something to be proud of and I found one today. On my most everyday hike which I’m sad to say doesn’t make “Pot bellies” disappear I had an aha moment

In our fall months here in Parkfield the temperature can rise and fall pretty fast. The other day I started my hike with coat on and finished with coat tied around my waist. What I did learn after tying my coat around my waist several times where my waist used to be but gravity kept pulling it down around my knees it struck me that if I tied my coat above my belly gravity didn’t have a chance. That’s it folks it’s the only useful reason to have a Pot Belly. Oh, and yes, you’ll need one if you ever want to play Santa Claus.

                             See Ya

                              Jack

Smoky the Bear has got it all wrong.      

At the end of June of this year a wildfire started on my neighbors ranch. After a day or so, this fire had grown to several thousand acres in size, to warrant its own name. It was called The Garza Fire. When all was said and done and the last embers were out 60,000 acres had burned. 6,000 of these acres were on our V6 ranch and what a blessing it was. For many of you that live in our cities and towns are thinking how awful. But was it? I think not. For this part of The Diablo range had no people living in harms way and there were just a handful of structures that Cal Fire carefully protected from burning. As for the wild life and livestock I believe all escaped unscathed as just an occasional Turkey Vulture was seen flying over the burned area indicating that there wasn’t much to eat.

Now let’s examine what damage the land, the grass, and trees sustained. Thanks to my iPhone this blog is coming to you with pictures “worth a thousand words” to validate my assertion that Fire is a natural and normal part of how Mother Nature manages our forests and grasslands.

This photo was taken shortly after the fire. It gives a perspective as to the type of terrain that the Garza Fire consumed.
This scene was taken on 9/28/17 notice that all the trunks of these Scrub Oak are mostly all dead but their roots are not as you can see all the new regrowth that has appeared in just a little over 2 months. This will now be excellent browsing food for our Black Tail Deer along with the many Chamise Brush bulbs that are sending out new shoots.
This picture was also taken on 9/28/17. This picture was taken in a more open grassland. Notice that the leaves got toasted but already new leaves are appearing even though these leaves will be shed come Winter
I very much like this picture as this hardy Blue Oak is saying “don’t count me out I’ve got a few hundred years of life still left in me.”

Smoky the Bear with his cry “only you can prevent forest fires” is a most destructive fraud because Lightning starts a good share of the wild fires that get started on our western ranges that “We The People” have no control over. So, let’s relegate Smoky the Bear to his proper place which is on the junk heap of fake news.

First, I recognize that my state of California is no longer a sparsely settled land but a land where 40,000,000 people dwell along with all their paraphernalia like cars, houses, and all those who can’t do without T.V.’s, which all needs protecting. However that still leaves many millions of acres of wild lands that are in real need of some thoughtful science based management to leave behind the emotionally charged decision making practices that Smokey the Bear has championed and put us into the mess we’re in today. Catastrophic fires are our reward for not dealing with the build up of an understory of very flammable dry matter which should be burned under controlled conditions or physically removed, which is very expensive. Logging with today’s new methods makes a much smaller footprint on the landscape which is both beneficial and profitable to our government and to the logging industry. So let’s all move forward together, starting with a historical notation that Smokey the Bear was laid to rest this day in his proper place alongside junk science, fake news and a few dogmatic wacko environmentalists who to this day are still leading the gullible astray.

To close, my hope is that over time Common Sense and knowledge will save our forests and wild lands.

                             See Ya

                             Jack

Toilet Paper needs love too

Each winter my son John remodels a room in the Parkfield Inn. This year he chose the room we call The Tool Room, whose theme is of a blacksmith’s shop. While re-doing the bathroom it struck me that far and away the most important object in the bathroom is not soap, nor is it a nice soft absorbent bath towel, or hot water, which if push came to shove would all have to take a back seat to a roll of toilet paper. What other thing in a bathroom gives so much satisfaction when cleaning out different orifices of the body; can double as a Band Aid for a man that cuts himself shaving, or can be made into ear plugs to drown out music that sounds like finger nails on a chalkboard? T.P. really shows its absolute supremacy over all other objects in a bathroom when a person is perched upon the porcelain throne and when done looks for the T.P. Lo and behold, if the dispenser is empty, in the blink of an eye terror strikes this helpless person with “What do I do now?!” In the case of no soap or no towel, they’re just inconveniences, but no toilet paper, now that has to rate right up there with a heart attack.
“How do we treat this indispensable part of our lives? We simply send spent paper down the toilet with not so much as a thank you for a job well done, or a bon voyage. No, we just walk away indifferent to the plight of that paper as it journeys off to some sewer farm never to be heard from again. But because toilet paper came from a tree, just like paper that makes its way to the easel of an artist where brush strokes can make it valuable, or to a pad where something scribbled can lead to world changing events, our poor T.P., with just bad luck, got shunted into a pulp barrel labeled for toilet paper, where it will give its all with no reward.
Well I plan to change this injustice by building a proper monument to display this indispensable part of our lives in the newly remodeled bathroom of the Tool Room. It will be made of recycled parts, each having escaped the plight of my T.P. friend to be reborn again as a proud holder of body wipes. So if you would like to pay homage to our universal friend, come visit us in Parkfield, CA, Earthquake Capital Of The World, population 18, and the place where a ground swell of gratitude is gathering steam to make toilet paper ‘Top of The Heap’, ‘King of the Hill.’
See ya, Jack

crown jewel of any bathroom

I’ve just got to get out of this place: A Memoir

Have you ever wondered what life before the day of your birth was like?
Well I experienced it once and it’s all coming back to me now. My beginning started in a cave and I was cared for by my mother who was very attentive to my every need and what comes to mind was how safe and secure I felt. My new apartment was located in my mother’s womb and at first it was very spacious except that I was tethered to her by a piece of rope which was rather annoying, as any self respecting cowboy to be knows it should have been tied around my neck with a Bowline knot. That way you can’t choke but my mother had other plans and she stuck the dammed thing to my belly which was quite humiliating for a cowboy to be. My tie rope was pretty long and from time to time I would get tangled up but with a few twists and turns I learned that I could free myself quite easily so it was a solvable problem. My real issue was fast becoming wiggle room and as each week came and went my once spacious digs got more uncomfortable and it became self evident that I would soon have to find new quarters. I was growing like a weed and by the ninth month I had used up every last inch of space and I was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic (it’s probably why I don’t like to ride in elevators today). I told my mother that I had had enough and I was getting out of this overcrowded dump. I started kicking and that’s when I felt something break which started a lifetime of “dam it you broke my favorite vase”, “how could you be so careless you broke my 2nd favorite vase”, “you’re like a bull in a china closet” and “now you’ve really done it, my third favorite vase is gone”.  My mother sure had a lot of vases. Anyway back to that breaking noise I heard, well at the same time there appeared before me a tunnel. I didn’t see any exit sign on it and the opening looked awfully small but I was desperate to get out of this place and much to my surprise, I felt my first case of rejection as my mother told my father that she wanted me out of her house, the sooner the better. Well the next hour was pretty scary as my father was trying to go as fast on the land as the airplanes he flew in the sky. I was bumping around inside my cage like a cork on white water when my mother started to yell four letter words which I didn’t expect to come from a proper English lady. Well we made it to the San Luis Obispo, California General Hospital in time to hurry up and wait. I had grown up to be a big walloper over nine pounds and at seeing the opening in front of me I thought, “This is not possible”! But mom was determined. She wanted me out of her nest right now. So she started pushing and shoving and it seemed to me the polite thing to do was to help out. Well it was slicker than Goose Grease in here and there was no place that I could get traction so I wasn’t much help.
About that time a new guy arrived on the scene and he started yelling “push!” and my mother would push then would yell out new four letter words and I would scoot a little farther up the tunnel. Then it happened. There appeared a light from above. When I was just beginning to see the light, that fellow that kept yelling push, well he grabbed me by the head and started tugging and out I came goose grease and all.
Now that’s not the end of this story. He then proceeds to grab me by the ankles and hang me upside-down and give me a whack across my back, made me cry, well he still wasn’t satisfied that I had made him get up in the middle of night so he asked a big lady standing next to him if she had any scissors and sure enough she did. Well this guy grabs those scissors and in the blink of an eye he cut off my tie rope and then he had the nerve to doll up my dinger and didn’t even ask my permission which I thought was real rude of him. By now I was getting real tired but we still had paperwork to do. First they tagged me then they foot printed me, then more paperwork which humans can’t seem to live without. But out of it all I got a certificate that said I entered this world on September 7,1935. This is how I remember it so don’t confuse me with facts.
See Ya
Jack
P.S.
I’m back and I can’t blame my iPad for my blog site going blank. But several months ago I came down with a case of “The Best of Intentions” because my “resolve” kept getting mired in a mud puddle of laziness. Well I’ve washed off the laziness and I am now committed with a new SPIRIT to start blogging again about anything and everything. I guess what ever happens to bubble to the surface of the old brain!

Waiting for the Endorphin to Kick In

Hi all,

Happy Thanksgiving.  My thoughts today for some unknown reason are not of our late afternoon feast where we disembody a turkey so we can add girth to our bodies, but rather when will my endorphins kick in and will I know it when they really do?

On my iPhone there is an App that is called Map My Hike.  I thought I would never end up inhabiting some of the same space that  our present day Millennials do, but believe me I haven’t gone so far as to wear one of those giant watches that will tell you all you might want to know about how well the old body is functioning.  At my age I will cast my lot with the old motto  “ignorance is bliss.”

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My iPhone startles me into the here-and-now, with the order Begin Workout.  I’ve got our 6 cow dogs all exited to get going but I wonder if they are a little perplexed as to when I traded my horse Fuzz for hiking poles?  I’ve decided to leave my coat at home so I won’t have any extra weight to carry.  And also it could give me reason to “weanie out” and  cut my hike short if I might possibly feel the slightest bit of discomfort.

I have to remind myself that there are two parts to today’s hike.  One is to keep mind and body from wearing a hole in my favorite recliner chair and the other is keep up the search for those elusive endorphins.  Sally, that’s the name I have given to the iPhone lady that startles me every time I pass a mile post.  Well, I have just been startled by Sally telling me I have put 1 mile behind me.  And what a mile it was, the wind was blowing enough to let the sissy side of me say “wish I had my coat” and just maybe this is reason enough to give up my search for those elusive endorphins and settle for my recliner.

Not on your life you “wimp!”  I’ll be off this windy ridge in a few more minutes and our Pine Canyon Lake will come into view.  It’s where I can sit a spell and count the ducks that use the lake as a resting place before they journey farther on to the South.  Here I am waiting for my endorphins to kick in when the real joy is in marveling at Mother Nature’s handy work.  I wonder about all these ducks that have just flown from Canada and Alaska to our lake.  Do you suppose they found their endorphins?

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I’m just about home now and Sally rings her bell and announces that I have just passed mile post 3 and my recliner is waiting in the living room.  I not sure if a peaceful easy feeling and a comfortable smile on my face spells endorphin but it’s close.   I hear the dinner bell ringing at our daughter’s house; it’s time to take in more calories than I used to fuel my hike.

It’s now Friday morning and my waistline has put on an inch or two. My phone rings and son John is on the other end. “What’s up John? Barbara and I and two of your granddaughters, Kathryn and Kayla, are going hiking want to go?”
“Where are you going to hike?” John says.  “On a part of the ranch you can only get too by walking?”
That intrigued me as I’m sure that I’ve ridden a horseback over every other acre on the V6.

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My, my , my, the views are absolutely spectacular as are my companions.  Who could ask for more?  The hike according to Sally was 3 miles again.  The value to my joyful place is immeasurable. Getting my 2nd wind sure feels good (endorphins), but plays second fiddle to a very satisfying Thanksgiving day and a radiant Friday.
See Ya
Jack