Tuesday, September 22, 2020

Home-field advantage: Pre-game calisthenics

Letting myself back into Mom’s house I suggested to Mom and to Ann, “Maybe it is time for Mom moved out to my house until things settle down.”

Well, that lit Ann right up.

Ann has a large-and-in-charge personality. SHE had decided everything was fine, perfectly fine. The murder was a fluke. The cops would prevent anything from getting out of control.

My face must have shown my skepticism.

“What?” Ann asked.

“I disagree” I said. “Things ARE blowing up. The cops are afraid to come out after dark. Vince and Sharon are bailing out for-the-duration and Vince is trying to talk Ruth into bailing too.”

“That is different” Ann said. “McCorkle’s house was less than a block away. The rioters didn’t come any closer than four blocks to Mom’s house.”

Mom’s ears were twitching like a terrier’s. She was absorbing every word.

I was thankful. At least Ann was now calling it a ‘riot’ instead of ‘a peaceful demonstration’.

“What about the dead person they found a block away? That is a lot closer than four blocks” I pointed out. I couldn’t, of course, point out that two people had been shot and they weren’t useful idiots, they were high-value assets.

Ann waffled.

“OK, let’s ask Marie. She has a cool head and truth be told, she is better set-up to watch Mom than we are” I said.

Ann was happy to punt.

Marie picked up on the second ring. I put her on speaker. “I propose that Mom get a little farther away from the Hall-of-Justice. It is better to move her during the day-light hours rather than wait until the demonstrators are coming down the street.

“I was just about to call you guys and propose the same thing. I can put her in my bedroom and I can move into the guest bedroom” Marie said.

“No, dear, I am not going to kick you out of your own room” mom objected.

Ann shot me a poisonous look. “You set that up, didn’t you?”

“Nope” I assured her. I didn’t have to. Great minds think alike and all that. Plus, I had a sneaking suspicion that Vince had called Marie and informed her that the Hammer of Thor was about to drop on the old neighborhood.

Now, to work on Ann.

“I think you should relocate, too” I said.

I worked her over for fifteen minutes and Ann would not move. “Nope. I am staying. Somebody has to keep an eye on Mom’s place.”

And that was that.

Moving mom was a two hour evolution. It is entirely possible that the ugly rifle made it out of the house on one of those trips.

Next up was to see if anything could be done to hamstring the aggressors.

Fortunately, Nick and Josh were not working Saturdays.

I showed up at Josh’s apartment with two cups of coffee. Josh was a heavy equipment mechanic. He knew diesel equipment like the back of his hand.

“Suppose you had to incapacitate twenty diesel buses and you had to do it in a hurry?” I asked.

Josh had a pretty good idea what I was thinking.

“Do you want the drivers to know they are incapacitated or not?” Josh asked.

“I prefer that they not know. Takes longer to fix them when you don’t have an obvious diagnosis” I said.

“You can always cut the brake lines” Josh volunteered.

“Would that leave fluid on the ground?” I asked.

“Well, yeah. Lemme think a second” Josh said.

“You could always crimp the fuel lines” Josh suggested.

“How would you do that?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t be hard” he said. “Happens all the time when rookies try to install fuel filters...I suppose if you took a small pair of bolt cutters and flattened the edges..maybe leave a 0.080” gap between them, that would do the trick” Josh said.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I think the rioters are going to target Vince’s and Mom’s neighborhood tonight” I said.

Josh was plenty smart enough to put two-and-two together. “Do you have inside information?”

“I cannot say” I said.

“Lemme get Nick over here. We have some planning we gotta do” Josh said.

I was fine with that. I needed to suck up some of the coffee and while I was doing that I caught up with what was going on in Josh’s life.

Once Nick was brought up to speed, Nick had a question. “I get what you are saying about crimping the fuel line, but the only way to pull it off is to have somebody pre-positioned, maybe in a manhole, and waiting for them. How are we going to know where they will park the busses?”

“Have you seen pictures of the demonstrators?” I asked.

Both young men nodded. They had.

“How many of them could run a mile?” I asked.

“Maybe half?” Nick ventured. "Maybe."

“And the other half, how many would walk a quarter mile if you paid them?” I asked.

Nick smiled. “None of them.”

“That tells me that the buses will park as close to Mom’s house and Vince’s house as they physically can” I said.

I watched their faces as they visualized Mom’s neighborhood.

Nick spoke up first. “The one’s going to Vince’s house are easy. They will park at the High School. But where will the one’s going to Grandma’s house park?”

Josh said “The only place they can park is along Verlinden Avenue. If it were me, I would park on the west side of Verlinden, pointing toward the freeway.”

Nick shook his head. “We will never be able to get the fuel-lines on those buses.”

“Then we need a Plan B. And while you are at it, we need a Plan C” I said. “Just let me know what you need.”

It took thirty seconds.

Josh said “It would be mighty convenient if we had some sub-sonic .300 Blackout ammo.”

“How many?” I asked.

“You can never have enough” he said with a grin.

“So whaddya think, twenty buses to ship a thousand demonstrators? Will twenty rounds be enough?” I asked.

I got that “You have to be F___ing me” look from both Nick and Josh. “Never know what else we will see that needs shooting. Can you swing us a couple hundred rounds?” Josh asked.

“Are you going to be able to get the rifles sighted in?” I asked.

“Never touched the scope. Just use the same recipe you used for the ones you gave us last Christmas” Josh said.

It is entirely possible that Josh and Nick had "cans" for their rifles. They never told me. I never asked.

Next

Monday, September 21, 2020

Another day in Paradise

Ivan Shiskin: A Rye Field

I got rye (the grain) planted in the garden annex. Rye is almost miraculous in its ability to grow in cold weather. It is one of those things that people plant when things really go to crap, that and turnips. At one point the Weimar Republic denominated currency pegged to sacks of rye.

As a go-to-hell-plan, there is much to be said for seeding your garden to rye and turnips in the late-summer or fall and then turning it over for green manure in the spring. If things go to hell, you can always let them mature and eat the turnips, turnip greens and rye. You can always break new land for your garden or plant part of what you put into green manure.

The annex is where I had potatoes, sweet corn, honeydew melons and cucumbers planted this summer.

More dirt

I like talking dirty to my wife: Clay, silt, loam, peat, much, histosols, sand, podzol, histosol, alfisol...

We are still working on the water management issues around the foundation.

In response to a question Dave asked in Comments, we are putting down 6 mil, black poly film beneath the paving squares.

Mrs ERJ opted for 16", concrete square pavers and we are spacing them a half-inch apart so they can float. We are grouting them with "barn lime" as bagged sand is unavailable locally. "Sharp Builder's sand" is $6 a bag and lime is $3.

I vaguely remember reading about encouraging moss to grow in sand between pavers by adding milk. Milk is rich in calcium, phosphorous, potassium and nitrogen. Moss supposedly increases the lime/sand's resistance to washing out and looks kind of cool. Does anybody out there have any solid information about jump-starting moss getting a toe-hold?

Mange

Zeus is having a bout of mange on his butt. I mixed up some lime-sulfur and started treating him. It smells terrible. I will dose him every-other day and we will see what happens in a month.

The electric fence

I found a short that had been plaguing me. I feel really stupid. It was one things where I remember thinking "I gotta make sure I take care of that before I move on." And then I didn't.

The short was where I ran a feed to Sprite's fence. I use a modified set of vice-grips to connect to a wire on Sprite's fence which then feeds her entire perimeter.

I disconnected the vice grips from her fence before moving the cattle into my pasture. They were ever-so-close to a welded wire feedlot panel that I just KNEW they would eventually short out.

Moving cattle can be an exercise in controlled chaos. Once you get them moving in the direction you want them to go, you don't want to interrupt the momentum by stopping. The stress increases by a factor of ten if they squirt out sideways.

I kept them moving and I paid the price for being forgetful.

One of Sprite's calves made the decision when to move paddocks. She simply walked through the paddock division fence.

It was more damaging to my ego than anything else. I would have left them in the paddock another day or two but it was not to be. Paddocks I thought should get 7 days of grazing were getting five and a half days and so on.

I went through the usual process of training cattle to respect the fence and there was not enough juice to make them jump, even when it laced them across the ears. That simply would not do!

I knew I had a serious problem and could not rest until I found it.

Then I found and fixed the short.

They are staying where they are supposed to be and I can hear arcing across fence insulators. That is a happy sound.

Chance meetings

I was filling the truck with gas in Charlotte, the county seat. The guy on the other side of the gas pump was wearing a tie. I made a comment. He responded.

He is a lawyer.

I commented "I hope we never meet professionally."

Then he said, "Truer than you know. I work for the Prosecuting Attorney's office."

One thing led to another. I learned that in Eaton County the "default" for looting/arson is to request that bail be set at $25,000. The bail proposed by the Prosecuting Attorney's office moves depending on multiple factors.

That compares to Portland/Seattle's $1000 bail...when they bother to assess bail at all.

I groused about arson being treated as anything less than aggravated assault or manslaughter. The gentleman on the other side of the gas pump declined to comment but he seemed to listen to my opinion.

God bless small towns!

Home-field advantage: Map, overview

 

Key: 

  • Gray rectangles/squares are parking lots.
  • White areas with thick, green outlines are demolished factories that are surrounded by 6' tall, grass covered berms. Inside the berms are concrete slab.
  • Pale green areas are parks.
  • The high school and the churches represented by icons.
  • Hall-of-Justice represented by scales.
  • Targets for rioting outlined in RED. 
  • Names of roads are underlined.
  • "H" is Harry's Place on Verlinden where the story started
  • Rail spur shown by dashed, double-line. It defines western city limit. Up to five tracks in parts of the spur
  • Both Mom's Neighborhood and Vince's Neighborhood contain about 200 people.
  • A scale-marker is buried between Mom's Neighborhood and Vince's.
  • Marie lives north of this map.

Next

Home-field advantage: Guilt!

***Note from the management: This is a work of Fiction***

My oldest sister was a walking example of the Dunning-Krugger Effect.

She watched 30 minutes of network news a day, an amount that she considered exactly the right amount to make her an expert.

Mom was watching TV when Ann burst into the kitchen.

I was preparing breakfast. It was the same thing every morning, oatmeal with lots of fruit.

“Have you seen the news?” she asked, breathlessly.

“No. You know Mom. Daily Mass on EWTN from 8:00-until-9:00, then the rosary until 9:30” I said.

In the background Father Wolf’s dry, papery voice expounding on the last few paragraphs of Luke 17. He deviated from the usual game-plan which was to tie the two scheduled readings together. Rather, he chose to speak about the Gospel reading and a reading from a completely different Gospel.

Father Wolf wove between Luke’s text* of people partying up to the time of Noah’s flood and 'Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses it will save it' and part of Matthew 10 where Jesus claims Christians will be persecuted and families will be split asunder.

It was an incredibly bleak homily for Father Wolf.

“A peaceful demonstrator was MURDERED a block from here!” Ann told me in a stage whisper.

I raised my eyebrows, mimicking surprise.

“It was a woman...a doctor. And somebody shot her in the head!” Ann said.

“But that is not the worst of it. Somebody shot a baby and it was right next to Vinnie’s house!” Ann said.

That is when I decided I better turn on my phone.

Right at the top was a text from Marie. “You need to talk to Vince.”

I asked Ann if she could cover for an hour or so.

Ann had her faults, but shirking duty was never one of them. “Absolutely. Take all the time you need.”

Before leaving, I rummaged around in Mom’s cupboard and found a sandwich sized ziplock baggie. I poured some lemon-juice from the fridge into it.

“What are you doing?” Ann asked.

“It is an experiment” I informed her.

That earned me an eye-roll.

While in the mud room, I transferred the spent brass from my back pocket into the ziplock. Then I stuffed the baggie into the side pocket of my work-jacket.

Somewhere between Mom’s and Vinnie’s, I slipped the baggie out of my pocket and dropped it down a random storm drain. Good-by evidence.

I was happy to have ditched it. There was crime-scene tape marking off an impressive stretch of scorched sidewalk and police combing the grass in neighboring yards.

It wasn’t exactly in front of Vince’s house...but it was mighty close to it.

I knocked on the door.

Vince opened the door. His face was a study in abject misery.

“Put on your coat. We need to go for a walk” I said.

He didn’t argue.

We walked briskly for about fifteen minutes.

Then I asked “What happened?”

“I shot the baby?” was all he could choke out.

“Give me the details” I demanded.

“They fire-bombed old man McCorkles” he said. “I saw them pulling quart beer bottles out of a baby stroller and turning them into Molotov Cocktails” he said.

“I have good binoculars” he said unnecessarily. Vince and Sharon didn’t have kids and the money just stacked up. A $1000 pair of binos was chump-change.

“Go on” I encouraged him.

“I was watching from the second story window” he started out.

That is why we were walking. Had we been in front of his house he might have pointed at it, even as the police were scouring the area for evidence.

“...then I saw one of the guys pull out a bottle, wick it and wind-up to throw it at MY house” he said, aghast.

“What happened next?” I asked.

“I shot him” Vince said.

Of course Vince shot him.

“Then, I shot the baby-carriage he pulled the bottle out of. I didn’t know there was a baby in it” Vince said.

Picturing the scorched ground in my head I said “But there were bottles of gasoline, right?”

Vince frowned at me. “Well, yeah. Pretty much packed all around the baby.”

“You didn’t kill that baby” I announced.

“Bullshit. I shot the baby-carriage” Vince said.

“That baby’s mother killed her own baby when she decided to take him to a riot” I told him.

“Trust me, I am a parent. I the only person who is responsible for where my child is. If I knowingly put my child in a dangerous situation then the sin is on me.”

Vince looked at me, dubiously.

“It says so in the Bible” I told him. “Remember the sequence about brothers fighting and the divorcing of women?”

Vince nodded his head. He remembered. “Isn’t that where he says divorcing a woman is the same as prostitution?”

“Back in the day, the only way a divorced woman could put food-on-the-table was to become a prostitute. So basically, Jesus was claiming that the man, the one with authority to make the decision, was responsible for the damages done to the woman” I said.

The argument was a bit convoluted but Vince could see how it applied to him.

“I still need to go to Confession” Vince said.

“Why? You did not commit a sin” I challenged. “One was clear case of self-defense and other time you pulled the trigger the death of the baby was on his mother’s head.” 

Then I pushed a little bit. "What happened after you shot the baby stroller? Did you see a big ball of fire?"

"It was like was was looking through at the gates of Hell" Vince said.

"Then your shot didn't hit the baby. You blew up some beer bottles. You didn't kill the baby, the person who put the baby and the beer bottles in the stroller did" I said.

There is a time to talk and there is a time to shut-up. Yes, the death of the baby was regrettable but it was not on Vince.

We walked another fifteen minutes, then I cleared my throat. “We have some other things to talk about.”

“What?” Vince asked.

“A ton of bricks is going to fall on the neighborhood tonight. We have to get you, Ruth and Mom out of here” I said.

“How can you know that?” Vince asked.

“Because the Marxists got punched in the nose. They looked weak. The only way they can hold their true-believers is to look like they are invincible” I said. "They cannot let that stand."

“Vince, you are standing on the ‘X’!” 

*I took the liberty of slipping the Friday readings a day. In all likelihood, Tim and Vince are taking this walk early Saturday morning. 

Next

Sunday, September 20, 2020

Just call me 'Joe Dir-Tay'

 

Like virtually every house ever built, we have issues with soil next to the foundation subsiding and water running back toward the house. Infiltrating, it then leaks into the basement.

One side of our house has gables and the valleys both feed into a 16' run of eves trough. 800 square feet of roof dumping into 16' of eve trough, especially when it gets some trash on the screens, does not make for a happy day.

Mrs ERJ suggested that we do something about it before the snow flies.

One wheelbarrow load of dirt is about enough to raise 2' of foundation/ground interface. I really don't want to have to do this again in another ten or fifteen years.

A very hostile environment for grass. It is underwater for weeks at a time. The grass in the picture is probably genus Echinochloa. Either Echinochloa frumentacea or Echinochloacrus-galli

The dirt is coming from our all-purpose burn-pit/shooting-range/cow-pond. The easiest dirt to dig is from the bottom of the pit. It is as heavy as the wages of sin but rich in clay. Each shovelful is carried by hand and dumped into the wheelbarrow. Then the wheelbarrow is pushed uphill to the house.

We knocked out about 20 feet today. Only another 150 to go.

Moral relativism

 


I am afraid we have been badly outmaneuvered with regard to Absolute Standards vs. Moral Relativism.

How many have had the experience of visiting the gymnasium of where they attended grade school?

I did. I attended Kindergarten at Allen Street School before attending different schools for grades 1-through-6.

Then, at age 24 I bought a house in that neighborhood and went to vote in that same gymnasium.

That gymnasium that took 20 minutes to run across...it was tiny.

Young people's stunning indifference to pedophilia

Just as we perceived "growing up" as our parents getting shorter, weights lighter and problems simpler our kids also float through "growing up" using an intertial reference frame where their center-of-gravity is the origin.

They don't perceive themselves as maturing from age 11-to-30, rather they see everybody else changing.

Culture used to whack us between the eyes and tether us to absolute standards. Now, not so much. Consider the vilification of statues. Nobody under the age of forty seems to have whiplash, nor have the considered what happens when THEY become the target of being erased.

Societally, moral relativism is a recipe for chaos and disaster.

We are seeing the leading storm-bands right now.

I don't know what to write except to say batten down the hatches, reef the sails and clutch those you love as close as you dare. Families are ecosystems with lots of moving parts. (Incidentally, oikos is Greek for home and is the root of ecology, ecosystem and economics)

Suppose riots are Made-for-TV Spectaculars

 

Images copyright Alexandros Grigoropoulos

If riots are made-for-TV spectacles, then one would expect the biggest ones to occur on Saturday nights since Sunday is still the biggest day for TV viewing.

Friday is called "Where news goes to die". If you want to announce something that you hope is soon forgotten you announce it on Friday at 3:00 in the afternoon.

Useful information? Marginally. If you MUST go to town then Thursday is your best bet and Saturday evening is your worst if you want to avoid spicy-times.