Sunday, July 29, 2018

Railings for decks



I got a call from a friend this morning.  We last worked together in 1994.

He is overthinking the railing on his deck.

He and his wife bought a house with a fantastic view of one of Michigan's Great Lakes.  My friend is a sailor and he envisions the railing to be analogous to the coaming on a big-water, racing sail boat.  The picture shown above approximates his vision, except he would add gimbaled cup holders every two feet for the daily ration of grog.


My friend is leaning toward two-ply, glue-lam, straight grained white oak finished with teak oil.  He is also entertaining ripple-grained African Mahogany and, if the stockmarket continues to dump, Douglas Fir.

His wife, on the other hand, wants to see the view they paid big money for.

My friend is a Professional Engineer.  It will be a cold day in hell before he builds anything that does not meet "Code".

She envisions herself sitting in an Adirondack chair, displaying her gorgeous legs while sipping a flute of Pinot Grigio and regaling her guests with awesome stories, all while watching the sun set over Lake Superior.  She wants the rail to be as invisible as a spider web.  They paid a lot of money for that view.

Recognizing that the Adirondack chair was part of the problem, he suggested a taller chair so she could look out, over the rail.  No go.  Then he suggested a bi-level deck with the portion closest to the house 8" higher than the rest.  Again, no go.

This looks like an insoluble problem.

One suggestion I had for him was to offer a substitute vision of equal vividness.  "What about the brass pole from a fire-station?" I asked.  That gives her a conversation piece that is different from every other nice house up-and-down the shoreline.

And my friend can tell his friends it came from the Exotic Dance "studio" where he first met his wife.

Saturday, July 28, 2018

Ill fortunate and salvage efforts


This is what I saw on Friday morning.  I suspect a bird, probably a Redwing Blackbird, landed on this grafted persimmon and broke it.  Redwing Blackbirds often nest in cattails and are very adept at arresting their forward flight on vertical stems.

I have had dismal luck straightening these up and having them live.  I decided to stabilize the break with multiple wraps of tape.

Then I put on a hat to keep the exposed wood from drying out.

Then I added a wimple to reduce the sun-load on the leaves.
I will consider this a rousing success if the tree lives until autumn when I can harvest all of the new growth for scion wood.

So far, so good.

Friday, July 27, 2018

For my readers in the European Union...


This is a week's worth of hits on my blog.  I am surprised that France, Ukraine and Germany exceed Canada.  Switzerland, Russia and Indonesia are also a surprise to me.  I wonder how many of those hits are from server farms as opposed to "real people".

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Installment Stub 1.5: Private Property


The inaugural session for the pro-tem Sedelia legislature started with an invocation. 

Then Kenny motioned that the first item on the agenda be tabled so some urgent business could be addressed.  The motion was seconded and approved.

Kenny then motioned that the floor be given to Mz Ideka Nuffin so she could propose critical legislation.  Again, the motion was seconded and approved.

Ideka was an accomplished public speaker.  She was not prepared but her rage would not allow her to back down, especially since the session was being video streamed live.

“Did you know,” Ms Nuffin started, “that Sedelia is being filled with illegal, private vehicles?”

Raymond Rojas and Ideka Nuffin loathed each other. The reaction was instantaneous, visceral and mutual. It did not help that the chamber was arranged alphabetically with Huntington Woods and Hancock Park sharing the same table.

They may have treated each other with elaborate courtesy and were sure that the other was unaware of their true feelings for each other but one only needed to be in the same room with them for five minutes to see it. 

Raymond was sure that Ideka Nuffin was a condescending idiot.  Nuffin considered Raymond to be pretentious and a social climber.

Raymond’s assessment was accurate.  Nuffin’s was not.

Nuffin thought Raymond’s use of big words was an act and she was sure he was mispronouncing most of them.  Had she taken the time to research pronunciation and usage she would have learned that Raymond was spot-on.

“How can vehicles be illegal when Sedelia has no laws?  In fact, that is the entire purpose of this session; a purpose you just derailed.” Raymond queried.

Nuffin ticked off the reasons on her fingers:
·         “They are private vehicles
·         They run on petroleum
·         They are undoubtedly owned by profiteers
·         They have not been taxed and registered”

“And so, what would you have us do?” Raymond cut to the chase.

“Confiscate them!” Nuffin said.  “It is glaringly obvious that the State needs them more than the profiteers.”

Nuffin rearranged her décolletage.  Nuffin had little in common with Sir Winston Churchill but she fully subscribed to his belief of finding a weak point and ruthlessly hammering until the opposition gave in.  Raymond was a cis-male.  Men look at boobs.  Three hundred pound women have ample bait…ah, boobs.  Get him staring at her boobs and she would own him. 

“So you propose a law that Sedelia confiscate all private vehicles…and then do what with them?” Kenny asked, not unkindly.

Nuffin did not appreciate the distraction.

“Well, first they should be reserved for critical, Sedelia business.” Mz Nuffin said.  “And then, as they import more illegal vehicles, some should be set aside for the poor people to use.” she continued.

Raymond Rojas rose to the challenge.  “Supposing people continued to bring vehicles into Sedelia and willingly turned them over to the State, how do you figure those vehicles would help the poor more than they would in the hands of private citizens?” Raymond asked.

Damn, he was not looking at her.  He was looking at his fellow legislators.  Nuffin scanned.  She saw a cute, forty-year old woman in the audience…nothing special…skinny, white, dark hair with a hard crinkle, cinnamon colored eyes.  Nuffin was a sucker for cinnamon colored eyes.  And she had freckles.  Rojas wasn’t staring at Nuffin’s cleavage but the cutie sure was.

“Well, because Sedelia would make them available to poor people without charging them.” Nuffin said, looking at Raymond as if he were a complete moron.

“I have to admit I know a little bit about the cartage business.” Raymond said.  “And I have to tell you that your premise is flawed.”

Nuffin made a face as if Raymond had defecated on her desk.

“For one thing, government owned vehicles are not very productive.  The drivers hit the road by 10:00 and knock off at 2:00.  Oh, and they take an hour lunch.  They might get two runs in, but more often it is just one run a day.” Raymond said.  Most members of the session nodded.  They had all seen Cali vehicles parked in the shade at “lunch” with the drivers taking a siesta.

“Because most of these privately held vehicles are owned by rental companies who lease them out to the people who need them the most.  The trucks are rented by the minute and the people who use them hustle.  In fact, most often they load a trailer and simply hitch up and pull the trailer to save the time it would take to load the truck.  The trucks run around the clock and make about twenty runs every twenty-four hours.” Raymond continued.

“As a point of fact I had one of those trucks delivering building supplies to one of my job sites at three this morning.  I know that because I was there to receive those supplies and keep them safe until my work crew showed up.”  at which point Raymond had to suppress a yawn.  It did not help that a wave of yawns rippled across the chamber as legislators yawned in sympathy.

“That means that one truck in private hands stimulates the economy as much as twenty trucks run by the State.” Raymond said.

“The other thing is that confiscating these trucks means that nobody would bother to import any more of them.  We need fifty times as many vehicles as we have or our economy would collapse just as it is starting to take off.

“There!  I got you!” Nuffin crowed.  “And every one of those trucks will burn twenty times as much carbon.”

Raymond was baffled.  “So?” he said.

“And so we will be in violation of the third Kyoto agreement, of which, Cali was a key signatory.” Nuffin stated.  “Fifty times as many vehicles, twenty times as many miles a day…that is a thousand-fold increase in carbon emissions!”

Now it was Kenny Lane’s turn to be baffled.  “Why is that important?  We are no longer part of Cali.”

Nuffin looked at Kenny and Raymond as if they were particularly dim students.  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She said.  “Isn’t it clear that the only way we can reconcile and re-unify with Cali is if we honor all of our commitments.  Well, that and turn over the war criminals as they properly requested.  We simply cannot afford to strike off on our own if we want to re-unify.”

Nuffin was clearly so caught up in her own universe that she was oblivious to the fact that many of the pro tem legislators were those very “war criminals”.

“Ummm…I don’t think that most of us see reunification as our over-riding goal.” Kenny temporized.

Nuffin waved a languid hand, “Then however shall we survive, economically that is?  We don’t have the ability to borrow enough to reinstitute Universal Basic Income and all of the Welfare supports.”  She might as well have ended the sentence with “Duh!”

Raymond rebutted.  “That, in a nutshell, is the divide.  We make one decision today.  Do we move forth boldly and leave the gravity-well of mediocrity and  victimhood in the past or do we spiral back into dependency and the endless, internecine and fratricidal battles over the ever-shrinking pie.

Kenny said, “Normally, I would insist that we have a written copy of the proposed legislation in front of us before we did any voting.  But since this is the first session, we are going to have some growing pains.  We will chalk this up to ‘pump priming’.” He said.

“But before we vote, I want to do one thing.” Kenny said.

“Justin, Amy…did you hear enough to know what you are voting on?” Kenny asked a small group in the audience.

Nuffin objected.  “What are you doing.  They are not legislators.”

“Nope.  They ain’t.” Kenny said.  “They are a stand-in for the Supreme Court.  In fact, they ain’t just any Supreme Court.  They are gonna be stacked 5:4 against any proposed legislation.  Anything ‘liberal’ they will be stacked 5 conservatives and 4 liberals.  Anything conservative proposal will result in the straw-court be stacked 5 liberals and 4 conservatives. 

“I ain’t signing anything that will not withstand a future test in an unfriendly court.  Just ain’t gonna happen.  You folks” Kenny said, gesturing to the legislators, “can override me but you might want to consider the futility of enacting laws that are going to get struck down the next time the winds shift.”

“Because your proposal attacks the rights associated with private property, I want Justin and Amy to stack the straw-court with five conservatives and four liberals.  We will either table the measure or vote after they vote.” Kenny said.

The ‘straw court’ deliberated for twenty minutes.  They ruled 7:2 against Nuffin’s proposal.  The majority decision was delivered by Amy Obreckt, the “cutie” in the audience with the cinnamon colored eyes.  Amy was  the lead liberal but she sided with the conservatives.  Her key point was that Nuffin’s proposal would disproportionately hurt the poor by reducing the availability of transportation and appeared to be solely motivated by Nuffin’s sense of status, privilege and entitlement.

The legislature tabled Mz Nuffin’s proposal indefinitely and got on with the true business of the day, enacting laws that defined Homicide, Kidnapping, Theft and other major crimes.

Next Installment of Stub

Thursday, July 26, 2018

A few miscellaneous note on walking


I really wanted to write a blog post where I could say something like:

Fifteen miles a day is a reasonable expectation for a moderately fit, middle-aged man who is forty pounds overweight.

The problem is in the adjectives.  They are all subjective.

Moderately fit...
If you swung a butterfly net and collected 100, random, middle-aged men, 95 of us would describe ourselves as "moderately fit".  The other two of us ran a marathon in the last year and three of us have severe Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.

Middle-aged...
Same deal.  Is twenty-five middle-age?  How about thirty-five?  Sixty-five?  I am fifty-nine...will I slip over the divide and become "old" next year?

Forty pounds overweight...
Eighty percent of those same 100 random men would admit to being between twenty-and-forty pounds overweight.  I dare say that if you took 100 men who are 5'-9" tall you would have men who weigh 170 pounds describing themselves that way as well as 260 pound men.  How can that be?

Technology
Technology is a multiplier.  What people tend to forget is that zero times anything is still zero.  Or, a very small number times any number smaller than infinity is still a very small number.

You can have all of the gee-whiz technology but if you cannot walk to the john without panting and breaking into a sweat you are not going to be able to walk miles and miles.

Some of the technology that allowed me to walk fifteen-to-twenty-five miles in a day were trail-running shoes, two pairs of socks, compression shorts, synthetic cargo shorts, a hat, high-viz shirt, sunblock with a high SPF rating, electrolyte, a pre-planned route and a backpack.

In the order listed:
  • Trail-running shoes are stout running shoes with fairly aggressive tread.  My feet like New Balance.  Many other people speak highly of Brooks.  Many people who hike the Appalachian trail chose trail-running shoes over hiking boots.
  • Feet are where the rubber hits the road.  I wore a pair of calf-height, women's nylons beneath over-calf height, polyester tube socks.  That provides a slip-plane that does not involve my skin.  Hence, many blisters can be avoided.
  • Compression shorts help with chafing.  They help a lot!
  • Synthetic cargo shorts have beau coupe pockets, are light weight, dry quickly and are less likely to promote chafing than cotton.
  • The best hats for sun protection make you a target in high risk areas.  The kind of people thugs don't want to mess with, construction workers for instance, wear baseball hats.
  • Construction workers and truck drivers almost always wear high-visibility shirts.  I think that insurance companies may have forced that.  Wearing high-viz makes you part of the brotherhood.  In a couple of cases I was waved through "Road Closed: Construction" areas simply based on my shirt.  Ironically, high-viz makes you invisible because residents assume you are a transient, unimportant worker.
  • I was wearing SPF 70 because that is what Mrs ERJ had on the shelf.  Sunburn sucks.
  • Walking consumes about 300 calories an hour.  "Old style" electrolyte (Gatorade, Powerade) has about 200 calories per 20 ounces.  Second Generation electrolyte has about 50 because "sport enhancing electrolyte" is a prop or a styling accessory rather than a tool for athletes.  I mix my own, 1 cup sucrose, 5 grams un-iodized table salt, 128 ounces of water + flavoring to suit.  Make mine lemonade, thank-you very much.  You will still be back-sliding 100 calories an hour if you drain one, twenty ounce bottle every hour.
  • As a general rule, the first road paralleling a major state highway is ideal for walking.  Counties skimp on maintaining these roads knowing that most residents will never drive more than a half-mile on them before hopping over to the state highway.  They tend to have very low traffic.  They also tend to "nick" towns rather than plow through the center of them.
  • The backpack allows me to carry my support with me.  On my trial walks carrying my support saved me an hour of drive time spent pre-positioning supplies. My backpack weighed twenty pounds, all in, when carrying 200 ounces of electrolyte and my other gear.

In closing
Lacking any other data, I will go out on a limb and speculate that if you are physically fit enough to briskly walk for an hour and find that it does not stress you, then you can probably walk fifteen miles with support if you pace yourself.

You might be able to walk twenty-five miles but increasingly small hiccups will knock you off the track.  Wrong shoes?  Bam, you are done.  Toenail on your big toe 1/8" too long?  Crap, you pulled up lame due to an hither-to-fore undetected hitch in your giddy-up.  Too little sugar in your electrolyte?  You hit the wall early.

One intangible is your pain tolerance.  Some people see pain as the absolute no-go zone.  Others see pain as nothing more than information.  Consider dogs:  Some hounds will run until the bottoms of all four paws are raw meat.  Other dogs become completely neurotic and non-functional at the slightest tickle of pain.  Look into your soul.  You can go much, much farther if you choose to be a hound than if you choose to stay a yappy ankle-biter.

Conventional wisdom holds that a bug-out bag (aka, 72 hour bag) will get you home but that may be overly optimistic if "home" is more than 45 miles away from your starting point.

Satire?

Published in the Lansing State Journal's Letters-to-the-Editor on July 26, 2018
Satire?
A few hints
  • "...you lazy Dems..." The author slipped and implied that he does not consider himself a Democrat
  • "America's president is a Communist."  I have heard of Social-Democrats but never heard of Social-Republicans.  Democrats tend to favor socialism (communism) over private property.
  • "...our Always Been Great country..." is a Republican view.  The progressives are the ones who have been busy nullifying the Constitution and apologizing, groveling even, for America's exceptionalism.
  • The name, "Willy Williams".  Really?
If this piece was actually written by a Democrat it is nice to know that he thinks people who voted for Trump are racists and stupid.  Most of the Trump voters I know are against Affirmative Action and race-based set-asides and quotas. 

Maybe I am stupid because I think the word "racist" describes people who make decisions that disadvantage others based on their race.

Made it!

A woodpile
I made it, averaging a snail-like 2.5 miles per hour.

I had shin-splint the last few hours and that slowed me down.  I must have modified my stride to take some of the load off the blisters and that overloaded my shins.  That is, I think I went to more of a heel-strike and less of a mid-foot strike.

The trip was 25.5 miles and I was dragging by the end.

Time
One thing you can say about walking is that it takes time.
The shadows were long when I started

The shadows were long when I ended.  Shade is where you find it.
I started with 10, 20oz bottles of electrolyte and drank 8.  Since ten hours with a 90F wind-chill is likely to be my "top end", I found the practical maximum that I need to carry.

A few pictures of woodpiles for ol' Remus
Company
Three kinds of taters, squash, melons, cukes

and sweetcorn.  Oh, and cord wood for burning.  I asked Henry how he kept the weeds down so well.  He said he like to hoe and that he planted turnip seed in the fall for over-wintering to suppress weeds.  He uses hand tools for everything in his garden.
I was taking a picture of a garden when an old (older than me, anyway) man and his dog came boiling out of his house.  "You. Hey, you.  Stop right there for a second." he said.

I thought he was angry.  Nope.  Just starved for company.

We chit-chatted for a bit and then he walked a mile with me.

His name is Henry.  His dog's name is Pugsley.  He considers himself a subsistence farmer!

The only thing that twists him around the axle is figuring out where the money for paying property taxes is going to come from.  As a younger man he cut firewood and once timbered off the swamp.  Lately, most of the cash for taxes comes from leasing out the hunting rights for his property.  The rest of it comes from a few steers he raises with hay from his property.  A neighbor cuts the hay on shares.

He has friends who give him rides into town.  Just this past weekend a neighbor picked him up and the listened to free music in Hillsdale.  Sometimes he gets a ride back.  Sometimes he walks.

I asked him for advice in case I ever want to change my career to 'subsistence farming'.  He said, "Don't ever spend any money."

Scenic country

I think I walked through some of the prettiest country yesterday that I have ever walked through.  The five miles of 29 Mile Road from Albion to M-60 is picture-postcard pretty.  Lots of majestic trees and I bet the colors are stunning in the fall since 30% are sugar maples.
Most of the other trees are oak trees of various species.  They also have cozy farm houses and rock walls between the fields and the road.

You can see how the tree (not quite in the frame) stunted the soybeans out to forty feet in the field.
I am sure those trees cost the farmers yield out into the field.  The trees outcompete the crops for moisture and sun.

Someday, those landowners will feel compelled to cut down those trees and the world will be a poorer place for it.  In a perfect world, the pro-environment people would figure out a way to compensate farmers/landowners for those diminished yields to relieve the economic pressure on the folks who have been protecting those trees.

Perhaps they could kick in money like church-goers sometimes sponsor "pagan babies" in Africa.  I could even see sending them photos of "their" tree and giving them a certificate entitling them to the oxygen it produced.