RV Life

Well, as I have said before, much as transpired since last we spoke. Life has been hectic as usual which has left me neglecting my blog among other things. I will try to tackle subjects each in turn to do them justice. So, first up is the title subject.

After literally discussing the possibility of full time RV living with The Queen for a decade, we finally pulled the trigger in March and bought a large travel trailer with the express purpose of living in same full time and (hopefully) traveling more. Of course, we picked the absolute worst time to buy a travel trailer with RV demand through the roof in the middle of a buggered up supply chain, record inflation and has eye watering gas prices.

Yeah, we have great timing that way.

We decided on a travel trailer instead of a motor home or a fifth wheel for several reasons. In hindsight, a fifth wheel probably would have been a better choice for our situation (two adults, a growing girl and a 7 animal menagerie). Having said that, the trailer we did get is about as big as “bumper pull” travel trailers go and even puts a few fifth wheels and all but the biggest motorhomes to shame in terms of usable space.

So, to answer the obvious question of “why?”, that’s both simple and complicated at the same time. We had the disastrous attempt at buying a house last year which was a blessing that turned into a curse. With the discovery of mold in the living room, it became uninhabitable for The Queen and M&M who both have allergies to the stuff. With me, the sole provider, losing my job literally on the heels of closing on the house, it became a financial disaster too. Fortunately, we were able to turn around and sell the house at slightly better than break even which left us in need of housing. We landed at an apartment while we caught our breath and figured out what options we had.

If the housing market is nuts, the apartment market in North Texas is insane. We signed a 7 month lease on a third floor unit for more than we really wanted to pay, but it was a complex built within the last 2 years and had no mold issues. There were other pluses and not much negative. We came to despise the stairs especially after coming down with Faucimonia. We moved in and started getting our feet under us again. Things were cooking along great until January when we started smelling cigarette smoke in the apartment. The complex was supposed to be non-smoking everywhere on the property.

Yeah…. not so much.

As near as we can tell from hearing the arguments through the wall clear as day including creative use of the universal adjective and other choice words, the person who signed the lease was a married male; however, he did not live in the unit. The person who was in residence in the unit was apparently the tenant’s “side chick” and “baby mama” who desperately wanted the tenant to leave his wife and move in with her and her baby. That was not happening according to the tenant. Anyway, the hoochie in residence also turned out to have a fairly well developed smoking habit and the smoke started coming through the walls.

The complex essentially had their hands tied in terms of what they could do. Any attempts at evicting the offending person, who according to the terms of the lease should not have even been there, would have taken more time than we had remaining on our lease. During this crisis, the lease renewal offer came in with a minimum 30% increase in rent depending on the lease term selected. Needless to say, this was not a tenable situation for us. After much back and forth, we finally came to agreement with the complex management in which we were let of our lease early with no costs or penalties.

The timing of all this put us moving out just in time for the Dallas RV Show in early March where we happened to run into Number 1 Follower and Best friend along with his wife who were also on the hunt for a new travel trailer. Turns out, we both bought trailers at the show.

For those of you familiar with Texas weather, you are probably snickering in your beverage about now. For the uninitiated, March in Texas is anyone’s guess as to what you are going to get day to day. Snow, high winds, tornadoes, heat, flooding, hail, sleet…you name it, you’ll probably get it during March. Sometimes multiple varieties in the same day.

Our originally scheduled delivery date turned out to be cold, wet and very windy. Since we did not yet have a truck of towing the trailer, we imposed on Number 1 Follower who had just invested in a new diesel pickup. Due to the weather, we were forced to delay a few days and try again. We ultimately took delivery of a slightly different model than the one we originally selected after a weekend of panicky indecision. For the record, I’m glad we got the unit we did.

Why did we not have a capable truck yet you ask? Well, one of the things they tell you when you start looking at RVs is to match your tow vehicle to the size of the trailer. The trailer we chose has an empty weight of over 8000 pounds and grosses out at just under 11,000 pounds. The Queen’s Navigator is getting long in the tooth and simply does not have the towing capacity to pull the new trailer.

Surprisingly, there are very few half ton trucks that would even come close to having the capacity necessary. Ford F150s with the Max Tow package, higher gear ratio and the 3.5L EcoBoost engine is one. The were a couple of others; however, the consensus was that these options were right on the edge of the safety margin and did not handle the weight particularly well compared to three quarter ton or 1 ton trucks. There were even some three quarter ton trucks that did not have the necessary oomph to haul this puppy.

So, after an aborted purchase attempt at a dealership an hour away wherein they attempted to charge me $8000 more than the advertised  price for a “reconditioning fee” which was nowhere mentioned in the ad, we succeeded in locating a reasonable deal at a dealership 4 hours away in Houston on a gently used 2013 Ford F250 with 129,000 miles, the 6.2L gas motor, the right gear ratio, all the bells and whistles, tonneau cover and even a fifth wheel hitch already installed in the bed if we ever choose to upgrade to one.

After the purchase, we discovered records in the glove box confirming that the previous owner had just had a brand new motor installed at a dealership after the original motor crapped out just 2000 miles before we bought it. I’m positive the dealership was unaware of the new motor based on the asking price (under KBB/NADA trade in value).

I absolutely LOVE the truck. It’s a beast. It pulls the trailer without any trouble. The gas mileage while towing stinks, but that’s only been about once a month so far. Doing the math, a diesel did not make sense for us. Had we been towing every week…maybe. Diesel trucks are a significant premium over comparable gasser trucks. We would have paid $9000 or $10,000 more for a similar diesel truck not to mention the extra $0.80 to $1.20 per gallon more at the pump not including DEF, higher maintenance costs (diesels are pricy beasts to work on in terms of both parts and preventative maintenance).

We’ve taken a few “short” trips so far. Once was to a state park about an hour away as a test run to see if anything needed fixing/addressing and to help us learn the things we didn’t already know. The other two have been to east Texas for church related activities about two hours away. Our first “longer” trip is coming up in a couple of weeks when we head to Arkansas about five and a half hours away. We have a long trip in the works for October which will take us over2000 miles roundtrip to South Dakota and back as well as another 1000 to 1500 mile roundtrip excursion probably to Florida which will be shoehorned in somewhere depending on what happens in the near future on the job front.

If you see a big, dark brown and tan Ford F250 stuffed to gills with people and animals towing a 38 foot trailer, give us a honk.

Everyone Needs to Read This and Understand

Been seeing the below copied text pop up on Facebook several times lately. You really have no idea until you go through it. At first, you think nothing of it because everyone asks the same question twice sometimes. Then, you think they might be faking it for attention or for laughs. When the person starts getting lost while driving or the same question gets asked 5 times in a row in 5 minutes, you know something is wrong. You try to tell yourself it will get better, but it doesn’t. The regression and memory gaps continue to get worse until one day they don’t recognize you or remember your name. They lose the ability to have even the most basic conversation or take care of simple bodily functions. Hygiene becomes a huge struggle. You will clean up excrement in strange places. Then, one day, getting them out of bed is no longer possible. When they stop eating and drinking, the end is close.

Alzheimer’s and Dementia are terminal illnesses which qualify you for hospice care covered under Medicare. Involve them as early as you possibly can. They can’t do everything, but what they can do will feel like a Godsend.

“It’s called the long goodbye. Rapidly shrinking brain is how a doctor described it. As the patient's brain slowly dies, they change physically and eventually forget who their loved ones are and become less themselves. Patients can eventually become bedridden, unable to move & unable to eat or drink or talk to their loved ones. There will be people who will scroll by this message because Dementia or Alzheimer's has not touched them. They may not know what it's like to have a loved one who has fought or is fighting a battle against Dementia or Alzheimer's.

In an effort to raise awareness of this cruel disease, I would love to see this on your timeline, too.

”

To clarify, the top two paragraphs are mine responding to the bottom paragraph in quotation marks which I have been seeing pop up on FB.

We Might Need a 12 Step Program...

...for Animal Lovers. Pets Anonymous or something. Saturday night, we went out for dinner with some friends from church. After dinner, we went for a walk around a local shopping / entertainment area called Grandscape. As we watched the kids play, someone came up with a shopping cart and proceeded to unload a bin full of puppies onto the green space at the central stage pavillion area. Five Pit Bull puppies. Of course every kid and not a few adults within 100 feet flocked around the pups. M&M was in the thick of things and was seen cuddling something squirmy and furry with her best "Daddy can I have it?" puppy dog eyes. 

The wife of the couple that had the puppies asked me if I wanted to hold one, and I replied "No thank you. I have a weakness and way too many animals at home." They were cute pups though. 

Snow: "If I fits, I sits. Right?"

Graycie was very proud of herself for pinning M&M

Graycie was not too pleased with the hat at first...

...until she discovered an alternate use.

Hi Dad...you still love me right? You haven't petted me in 15 seconds.

A rare peaceful line up in close proximity

Tinkle is such a shameless ball of fluff

Custom Guns?? Sort of??

Once upon a time, General George Patton was quoted as saying that "Only a pimp from a cheap New Orleans whorehouse would carry a pearl-handled pistol." I shudder to think what the good general would have said had he seen these disasters.

I have nothing against a nice custom gun, but I'm not paying a premium for an otherwise stock Glock or 3-4 times the normal price for a Mil Spec Springer with MIM parts just because it's gold. ESPECIALLY because it's gold. 

To each their own I suppose. I realize there must be a market for this sort of thing; but, for the life of me, I can't figure out who would want one of those.  

How In The Heck...?

M&M and I were out walking the dogs this afternoon when we spotted this seriously abused Jeep Rubicon in the parking lot. No, it does not belong to me or anyone I know. I have no idea what the story is, but I'm intensely curious to know. It's too clean to be a 4 wheeling, hold my beer and watch this incident. The hood damage suggests that it got wedged underneath something, but the ride height on the Rubi with those wheels and the suspension upgrades rules out quite a few options. 

Sheering the front axle on a 4 wheel drive vehicle takes a fair bit of force and maybe a little air? Perhaps the driver was head down in a phone when the vehicle launched at speed from a dip in the road?

 Given the state of the new and used car market right now and the lack of damage to the rear, they might just try to repair that sucker. 

Spam Email Folder

Is it just me, or is the spam email getting more vile? I keep my spam folder cleaned out pretty regularly; but, here lately, I don't think I'm old enough to read even just the subject lines of some of the garbage that goes in there. 

I Will Never Know...

I was at Total Wine a few days ago to get a bottle or two for The Queen. While there, I spotted this. 

According to the Glenfiddich website, that is a 70 centiliter bottle. The Google conversion math wizard says that converts to 24 ounces more or less.  So, a wee dram of that Sccotch is just a touch over $1583 an ounce. 

Blink, blink. 

That drink was distilled and casked in the year I was born give or take a year or two. As curious as I am to find out how it tastes, I never will. I can't even bring myself to spend more than $30 for a bottle of wine. No way I'm ever going to be able to buy a bottle of Scotch that costs more than every car I've ever owned. 

Still though...any one wanting to gift me a tumbler full can reach out to me through the blog. I'll even say real nice things about the benefactor. 

Animal Magnetism

Several months ago, I related the tale of rescuing a cat from the center median of an interstate highway. In that post, I mentioned The Queen's gift/curse relating to animals in distress. I am convinced that The Queen puts off a pheromone or the psychic equivalent of the bat signal for animals in distress. It doesn't matter what part of the animal kingdom is involved, they seem to have a knack for finding The Queen. So far, the list of animals she has assisted includes multiple varieties of birds, cats and dogs, snakes, bunnies, turtles and more.

Well, Friday night it happened again. 

The Queen, M&M and I went out for dinner and dessert in Fort Worth. Dessert was at the Food Hall at Crockett Row in the West 7TH area of  Fort Worth. This is one of those multiple use shopping/dining/residential/entertainment developments with mid-rise apartments built above the commercial lease spaces on the ground floors. There is both garage parking and street level parking available. This particular evening, we chose the street level parking. 

We had a lovely dessert of cupcakes from Gigi's Cupcakes in the Food Hall, and we had just gotten back to our car when The Queen heard the faintest of "mews". We all turned around to see this tiny little half starved kitten running up to us with that "Hey buddy, could you spare food?" look. 

You see where this is going I'm sure. 

We spent about an hour out there on the street taking turns petting him, looking for possible places he could have come from (none were apparent - apartments above, parking garage below and across the street), finding him some food to eat (he tore up a small bowl of chicken shawarma and some cream), discussing the insanity of bringing little fuzzball to the menagerie, etc. 

We eventually decided that there was no momma kitty or siblings nearby nor any likely place where he could call home. So, we picked him up and headed to the car. He road home like he was a pro at riding in cars. No freaking out. No crying. Just curled up and purred contentedly. 

He bears a striking resemblance to my beloved and dearly departed cat Sneaker. He talks a lot and purrs almost non-stop. He's been attacking my hands and feet while I've been writing this. We haven't decided on a name yet, but we have several contenders. 

M&M wanted to name him Kung Pao. That was a hard no for The Queen and I. Snickerdoodle was an early suggestion/rejection. Earl Grey was given the boot. Friday was discussed, but died for lack of  enthusiasm. Iggy, Igor and Ozzy (Clawsborne) are the current leading candidates. We shall see what sticks as his personality comes out.  

You've Never Really Lived...

...until you've vacuumed your back yard.

I know it sounds like a really messed up punishment you'd give a kid for some epic screw up, but this really happened recently.

You see, several years ago, The Queen convinced me we needed patio furniture. Pro tip to all: patio furniture should be made out of dimensional lumber. Anything else is a waste of money. Case on point to follow.

The Queen, being a serious shopper when she sets her mind to it, found a listing on Craigslist for a little out of the way shop that had a set up patio furniture for sale for a stupid low price. If you've ever priced patio furniture at a big box store, you know dropping a kilo buck is not uncommon for "decent" patio furniture. I forget the exact price, but I think it was sub $500. This is almost Guido "It Fell Off The Truck" territory, but we checked the place out and it was legit.

Any deal, one of the selling points for The Queen regarding this particular set of patio furniture was that the table had a glass top. Pro Tip Numero Dos: Never, EVER, buy a glass top patio table in North Texas (where hail storms with baseball or larger hail are a regular thing). Luckily, for me at least, this set of patio furniture managed to dodge several hail storms and even one tornado. Unfortunately, time and weather had not been kind to this set of furniture. Texas heat is brutal, rain rusts metal, things break and get lost...you get the picture.

So, after about a decade of service, we put the patio furniture aside for eventual disposal and/or repurposing.

Well, along came the dogs. Two dogs who'd never met a free range bunny in the backyard before. They really wanted to get to know Taco a lot better. Taco was less than thrilled with that idea.

So, The Queen decreed that a barrier must be erected to separate Taco and the pups. A trip to Home Depot and the parting of  $80 to$100 of my cash later, and we had a barrier. Of sorts. The dogs, managed to defeat my best efforts at fencing on a distressingly regular basis. Part of the problem was that we had to have a gate to allow access to the Taco side of the fence. This was the weakness that the dogs exploited. The Queen had a light bulb moment, and the table top from the patio furniture was pressed into service as a sliding gate supplement.

It did not end well.

Roughly 3' x 7' of shattered glass

One fine summer day, the weather turned nasty in a hurry with winds blowing storms in toot sweet. That lovely slab of glass patio table top toppled over and immediately fragmented into about a million little pieces of super sharp silicon.

Well, I needed an excuse to by a shop vac. I just never guessed it would be to vacuum the yard.

How to Offend a Snowflake

Honestly, I didn't set out to offend anyone. Really. I have very little trouble getting along with people. In hindsight, I should have expected what happened given the forum. Like a lot of people, I have a personal Facebook page. Facebook , in their infinite wisdom, has labeled me extremely conservative which I find a tad presumptuous that they would assume my political leanings based on my postings. Apparently, they find no irony in hypocrisy. But, whatever.

Anywho, around about a couple of months ago, we were out for a family outing, and I saw something that I found amusing and posted same to The Book of Feces. Said post was as follows:

"Just saw a woman wearing a “Notorious RBG” (Ruth Bader Ginsberg) t-shirt. I never noticed until now that RBG bears a striking resemblance to Don Knotts."

The t-shirt in question was more or less this one:

For comparison, here is a photo of Don Knotts:

Boy howdy, I didn't expect this in response:

"Wow. I hope when I'm judge in my old age, people look at my loving treatment of  my family, my exceptional education, my contribution to my work groups, and not my looks (even though I do take very good care of myself physically and aesthetically). So fun being judged! In Christian tradition I thought this was frowned upon?"

Um....okay. This person is someone I went to high school with; and, to be honest, I cannot recall ever having a class with her or knowing her back then. I (foolishly, in retrospect) accepted her friend request when I got connected up with my 30 year high school reunion Facebook page. She lives in either Denver or Boulder Colorado, is pretty proud of her looks from the number of selfies she posts and hates Trump. You can safely assume her political leanings. I won't be offended.

And, now for the rest of the story.

My response:

"I’m not sure what about my post gave you the impression that I was in any way judging RBG or overlooking her accomplishments, education, etc. However, nothing could be further from the truth. While I disagree with her politically, I said nothing negative or judgmental about her. Further, I fail to see how commenting that one person bears a resemblance to another person is judgmental or critical or unchristian. If I had said that she resembled someone or something and then stated a negative connotation with that statement, then I could see you inference having some validity. As it is, you have judged me based on an assumption that you made that I was somehow implying a resemblance to Don Knotts was somehow a negative reflection on RBG. So, go put your stones away and go have a look in the mirror for the log in your own eye."

Her retort:

"Then what do you gain by posting a hilarious and derogatory comparison if not to be judging?"

My Rebuttal and Final Word:

"Why do you judge me by assuming that I’m making a hilarious and derogatory comparison? Did I say that the resemblance was hilarious? No. Did I say that the resemblance was in any way derogatory? No. Did I say anything Judgmental AT ALL about RBG? Not one word. That is all you reading something into two sentences worth of text.

The truth of the matter is that my father-in-law has watched The Andy Griffith Show every night for the last two years, and my wife, daughter and I watched The Incredible Mr. Limpet the other day. Both of which have Don Knotts in prominent roles. When I saw the t-shirt, I thought the face belonged to Don Knotts, and it was only after I figured out what the words on the T-shirt said from a distance of 20 feet away that I realized it was a picture of RBG. So, pardon me for sharing an innocent observation."

She chose to shut up after that. Surprisingly, she didn't unfriend me either.

Happy Blogiversary To Me

I've been a bit busy, and I let an important milestone slip past without nary a whisper. Behold, back in August, this little corner of the internet turned 10. Imagine my surprise. 

I've been in the process of saving my posts to Word documents for later compilation. Don't ask my why. It seemed like a good idea at this time. In the process, I couldn't help but re-read a lot of what I've written; and, frankly, I'm amazed that some of you have hung on as long as you have. There are the occasional rare gems tucked away here and there, but a lot of what I've written is pretty meh (you may have a differing opinion, and that's fine). 

One of these days, I might just put together a "best of" post to link to some of those gems that some of you late comers might have missed along the way. 

Anyway, thank you to everyone for hanging around. Drop a comment or two once in a while if you are so inclined. No promises, but I'm going to try and kick out more content beyond just funny (to me) memes. There are several posts queued up for this coming week. I hope you enjoy. 

Comments

Unfortunately, some mangy twit has discovered my blog and decided to inundate me with a bunch of anonymous spam comments on old posts. In the triumph of optimism over experience, Senor Spammer has not figured out that comment moderation has been turned on for older posts. Having said that, I'm tired of having to go in several times a week to clear out his/her/their crap. So, I've changed the comment settings to require a Google account as opposed to allowing anonymous commenters. If you are a long time follower without a Google account affected by this twit, drop me a line. I'll see what we can work out.

Daddy Hawk's Discount Doggie Emporium

To those of you acquainted with me in real life (or at least the facsimile of real life that exists on FaceBook), you already know what's coming. Shhh...don't spoil it for the rest of the readers.

So, last week, I had business in the southern part of the state. Since I live in North Texas, that would be pretty much most of Texas. However, in this particular instance, I am referring to the arm pit of Texas, the "greater" Houston metropolitan area, and San Antonio. Since it was a "two-fer" trip, I elected to drive as opposed to trying to deal with flights, hotels and rental cars. Just dealing with cars and hotels is a lot simpler and allows me to do two things: 1) control my own destiny (more or less), and 2) bring The Queen and M&M along with me for the ride.

Business was uneventful, and the drive home was sufficiently late enough Tuesday evening and near enough to Mimi's house, that we chose to stay the night since I didn't have to have the rental returned until Wednesday morning. When Wednesday morning dawned and we loaded up the rental for the short drive back to our home to off load our junk before returning the rental, we were departing Casa Mimi (aka "The Farm") when we spotted a female dog in the driveway who most clearly in "a family way".

We snapped the above pic and texted it to Mimi to see if she was aware of this young lady casing her house (this is not an unusual occurrence as Casa Mimi has been the refuge of  choice for many a stray over the years). Mimi denied any and all knowledge of the poor, lost waif but promised to keep an eye out for her. We proceeded to depart secure in the knowledge that God and Mimi would take care of it.

We didn't think much more about it until Friday morning when Mimi texted to advise that there was a 12 week old black lab puppy in her driveway. I thought that was oddly specific considering Mimi was departing for work at the time. We have not been "in the market" for a new dog since our beloved Numbnutt had to be put to sleep; however, a chance at a free black lab puppy is not to be missed. So, The Queen, M&M and I loaded up the chariot and returned to Casa Mimi to begin hunting for the rumored black lab puppy.

We arrived before Mimi returned from work at noonish to find no sign or trace of any black lab puppies. What we did find was the little lost, pregnant waif still loitering in the neighborhood. After much searching and following of little miss preggers, we came to the conclusion that the mamma dog to be and the black lab puppy were, in fact, one and the same. Mamma in waiting had been curling up in the flowers next to Mimi's driveway; and, when so cuddled up, her white patches were not visible. Mimi confessed to not having seen the fabled puppy standing or otherwise moving. So, a lab puppy was not to be.

But, the adventure endeth not there. A cold front was coming (or so sayeth the weather guessers...truly Texas forecasts are a joke at best), and temps were expected to drop below freezing. This was intolerable to one and all, and The Queen set about making efforts to befriend one pregnant female dog of uncertain pedigree (it's hard to tell in the photos, but she has a long neck, smallish lab shaped head, longer body out of proportion with her legs and a pit bull tail).

At first, mamma mia was reluctant to come near The Queen and gave a subtle "I'm scared. Leave me alone." low growl. Several treats later, some water, a dog bed and some food along with gentle coaxing by The Queen, and she was down right sociable.

As we spent more time around her, it became apparent that she was most likely a "dump". Some sub-human pile of excrement most likely dropped her off in a "nice area" (Mimi lives in a small, rural town...not quite "turn off the paved road", but you can see it from there.) thinking she could fend for herself. I'm here to tell you, after the better part of at least 3 days, she was not fending for herself. She was thirsty, hungry, scared, stressed, uncomfortable and still keeping a close eye on the road and perked an ear at certain car sounds. So, we suspect she had stayed close to where she was dropped in hopes that her "pack" would come back for her.

There are no words I can share for my thoughts on the person who would do that to a pregnant animal. Then again, I like animals a whole lot more than I like most people.

Anyway, on with our story. As night fell, temps were dropping, condensation was making everything wet, and she was a shivering ball of bloated beached whale. So, we decided she needed to be relocated to more suitable accommodations. Mimi just happens to have a reasonably well built greenhouse complete with heaters, etc. Mimi's house is in "no vacancy" status due to the pipsqueak in residence named Lulu who is sweet dog one on one but who has vociferously expressed her displeasure at the presence of an interloper. So, we made a comfy place for her and set about deciding how to relocate about 50 pounds worth of female dog and her bus load of puppies without inviting disaster.

Since she hadn't reach full trust stage with us yet, she was in no mood to help or make things easy for us. We wound up helping her into a dog bed after which I carried the dog, bed and all, to the greenhouse. She promptly spread out and made herself right at home. Several pettings and head scratchings later, and we received a couple of contented doggie sighs signaling that she was good for the night.

Saturday morning dawned to find us no closer to puppies getting their eviction notices. Mamma May I is much more  relaxed but as uncomfortable as one might expect a short legged dog to be carrying a wide load.

We did attempt to take her out for a walk or two to get her some fresh air and sunshine. Unfortunately, both walk attempts ended in short order after she got tuckered out necessitating yours truly acting as your friendly neighborhood sherpa to carry her back to her bed.

In the mean time, puppy watch continues. I expected to hear the pitter patter of little paws yesterday, but God apparently hasn't given the pups their GO signal yet.

Momma is really a sweet little lady, and I expect she will be a good momma dog to her babies. We have no idea what the pups will look like since we have no clue what the  male side of the equation looks like. I'm gamely trying to remain unattached to her which is really hard because she is an easy dog to like and who wouldn't want to take in an animal in need (discounting the piece of trash who dropped her off on the side of the road). M&M is already in love with her, and Momma Dog lights up like a church on Christmas Eve when M&M comes in to check on her. As much as we would like to take her in, we have other considerations not the least of which are three cats, a rabbit and an unknown number of puppies who need new homes. So, her status remains in limbo for the time being.

So, anyone looking for a sweet dog or a puppy? The puppies need a few more minutes in the oven before they will be done cooking at which time the recipe says to rest them in a cozy spot for about 8 weeks. Pics of pups to follow. Let me know if you are interested. Free to well qualified good homes.

Source Material

The Queen has been out on her annual fall trek through the thrift stores hunting clothing and other apparel for our upcoming trip (hopefully Haweewee if it doesn't get blown off the map by the hurricane currently spinning up in the Pacific). So, she sends me a text at the office with the a photo of the following t-shirt:

She allowed as how it was the perfect shirt for me...since I typically refuse to accept much of anything without critically assessing the facts and source material.

I can't help it. I come by my flaw honestly as I was trained that way by a wise, old, Jesuit priest turned history professor in my history methodology class. The man had to be in his 70s at least at the time, and that was...more than a few years ago. Let's just say, if that man is still creeping around this old mud ball, I'm shooting him in the head on general principle. You can't be too careful to prevent a zombie outbreak.

God will sort it out.

Anyspeculation, there was a point to this post. I'm sure of it.

Oh yes...critical assessment of facts and source material.

That old Jesuit had all us wannabe history majors do a project (a research paper really) the main point of which was an annotated bibliography. He didn't really care what the subject of the paper was as long as the bibliography was annotated with a critical assessment of the source material including whether it was primary, secondary, tertiary, etc. He also wanted us to take it a step further and assess whether the source material exhibited any bias (this came back to bite me in the butt with my African history professor, but that's a story for another time).

Fast forward mumble, mumble years, and that is one the lessons that has stuck with me to this day. Unfortunately, I think this lesson has been lost on an entire generation (or more) of people.

Case on point. The other night, I come home from work to find two, brand new, freshly purchased boxes of Cheerios (M&M's preferred breakfast cereal) on a pile of stuff being gathered for donation. I queried The Queen as to the reason suspecting something was afoot.

The Queen informed me that my father-in-law, Opa, had told her that he had read an article somewhere that claimed Cheerios contained dangerous levels of a particular pesticide residue. Opa is one of those people for whom a little information is a dangerous thing (no, seriously, he's never met an internet scare of conspiracy theory that he hasn't latched onto). He really should not be let loose with an internet connection without a minder.

This revelation, as one would expect, caused my eyebrows to raise and set off my facial tics just a touch.

I set about investigating the claim du juor. Opa was questioned regarding the source of the Cheerios Challenge. After much fumbling about the dustier corners of his memory, we were able to tease out the source of the pesticide proposition. It was a news article from the Detroit Free Press linked to from the Natural News website referring to a study done by a group called Environmental Working Group.

Now we were getting somewhere. I start doing my due diligence on EWG. EWG claims to be a non-profit, non-partisan organization dedicated to protecting human health and the environment. A laudable goal to be sure. Funding is primarily from grants and individuals. Notable names among the donor list is the Walton Family Foundation (think Sam Walton of Wal-Mart fame) and The Turner Foundation (Ted Turner - CNN Founder). They also have corporate partnerships with many of the bigger names in organic foods.

Nothing about this is particularly alarming. It's not like George Soros or the Koch Brothers are involved. Having said that, did I mention EWG has a lobbying arm? Silly me. That must have slipped my mind. And regarding what issues do they lobby? Environmental, agricultural, food, toxic chemicals, etc.

So, they are environmental advocates. Again, nothing particularly wrong with that, but it could color their findings on certain topics or influence their reporting of facts. We'll get back to that in a minute.

I tracked down the article EWG posted about glysophate levels in foods. Glysophate, for the uninitiated, is the evil active ingredient in RoundUp (created by the nefarious mega corporation Monsanto...yes, I'm being a tad tongue in cheek). It seems that EWG commissioned a laboratory study of glysophate levels in common breakfast cereals. The article published by EWG reporting the results of the lab study started with a link to a recent California jury verdict in which Monsanto was ordered to pay $289 million to a plaintiff dying of cancer allegedly caused by exposure to glysophate. They then get into a discussion of the levels of glysophate in food allowed by the California Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment (1.1 milligrams per day for a 154 pound average person), the EPA (not specifically noted by referenced to be 60 times higher than the CA state allowable level) and the EWG's calculated "one in a million" cancer risk of 0.01 milligrams per day.

The original article I read did not "show their work" on the math, but it seems to have been corrected as they now report that a person would have to eat a 60 gram serving of food exceeding 160 parts per billion glysophate concentration to reach their calculated risk level of 0.01 millgrams per day (which, by the way, is 110 times lower than the  level the state of California says is too much which in turn is 60 times lower than what the EPA says is too much). So, just to put a bow on the math, EWG is saying that the safe level of glysophate in foods SHOULD be 6600 times lower than the level currently allowed by the EPA. They don't make a convincing case for why the level should be 6600 times lower than the EPA or 110 times lower than the state of California. Instead, they seem content to make the argument that it is a chemical linked to cancer and is therefore bad in any quantity.

For the record, I'm not volunteering to drink or otherwise consume 1.056 million parts per billion (that's 160 parts per billion times 6600) concentrations of glysophate in my daily Cheerios; and, truthfully, EWG may not be wrong in their conclusion. I just take issue with the manner in which they are presenting their information.

Back to the report on the study results. First off, the article currently on their website has been drastically revised from the version I read a few days ago, and I really wish I had a screen capture or PDF copy of the original to compare and contrast. The current version shows that EWG took samples of 45 conventional breakfast cereals and 16 organic breakfast cereals and tested them for glysophate concentration. They then report the test results in concentration parts per billion for each sample. All fine and dandy so far. Where things really went off the rails in the original article was that samples results were grouped according to which ones had unsafe levels (color coded in red...for contrast I'm sure). The thing that really bugged me in the original was that  they did not make it clear that the table of results categorized each product according to EWG's much lower concentration level.

To clarify further, the report starts out talking about concentration levels in milligrams per weight before  shifting to parts per billion in the lab results table. The revised article does now provide a brief conversion from milligrams per serving to parts per billions, but the original article did not.

Even in the revised article, if someone is not reading carefully, they might miss that critical distinction. The skeptic in me suspects that was EWG's intent in order to advocate for a new, lower standard for safe concentration levels.

Another, in my opinion, glaring omission from EWG's article is the results of other scientific testing on glysophate, a discussion of the MSDS sheet on the chemical, etc. For instance, it took me literally seconds to find out that the WHO and UN studies on glysophate determined that mammal animal models suggest that concentrations as high as 2000 milligrams per kilogram of  body weight was not associated with genotoxic effects. There's more detail out there than I'm willing to transcribe or cut and paste here. Bottom line is that you would probably have to ingest enough to drown yourself before you'd be at a legitimate risk of getting cancer, and you'd probably puke it up before you got close to those dosage levels.

After I pointed out these little details, the Cheerios mysteriously reappeared in the pantry.

Now, this is just one little drop of questionable information in a practical galactic ocean of information floating around the internet. Why should you care? Well, the president attacks CNN almost daily accusing them of being fake news. Fox News claims to be fair & balanced. Alex Jones gets banned from social media for making wild claims reported as news. For every EWG, there is a company or interest group lobbying for the opposite position. And let's not forget all those companies out there trying to make a buck selling snake oil and legitimate products.

Everyone, it seems, is publishing information at the speed of light. The incredible quantity of information being published everyday makes it impossible to fact check it all. That is why it is so incredibly important to learn to critically assess source material.

So, the next time you hear someone ranting about the latest scandal, conspiracy theory, social justice melt down...etc. Take a step back and dig into the source material with a critical eye. I'd bet that, more often than not, you'll find discrepancies in the reporting that will be most illuminating.

Huh...9 Years of This And Counting

According to my blog archives, I started this little train wreck 9 years ago today. Thank you to all that are still lurking in the shadows and those brave enough to admit they read my infrequent ramblings.

I can't say what the next 9 years holds, but I'll give it my best shot.

Someone REALLY Likes Cats...A LOT!

Spotted the following vehicle while running errands recently. It does tend to catch ones attention.

Click the pics to embiggenate and appreciate the details.

Why Can't I Get Sick in Peace?

I had to go to Las Vegas for business last week. I flew out on Sunday and came back Monday.  I didn't go play in any reindeer games although I was tempted to drop the lone $1 bill in my wallet on a slot machine just so I could say I lost all my money in Vegas.

While I am there in Vegas tending to business, I start to pick up a little bit of  nasal congestion and scratchy throat. Allergies thinks I. I'm not used to a climate involving dry air and show girls on the street corners. Speaking of things I'm not used to, Vegas is probably the only place in the country where you can have a marijuana "dispensary" next door to a gun range next door to a wedding chapel next door to a world class buffet. When they say Sin City, they ain't just whistling Dixie buster. The restaurant proudly displaying a sign that said "over 350 pounds eats free" was just icing on the decadence cake.

So, any post nasal drip, I come home very late Monday night. I get off the plane hungry not having had time to grab food before departure in Lost Wages. Dallas Love Field is borderline ghost town at 11:30. By the time I made it back to my vehicle and out the parking garage, it was past midnight. The Queen didn't help matters by tempting me with Facebook videos of a deep dish, stuffed crust, double three cheese blend with an extra side of cheese pizza dusted in grated Parmesean.

So, naturally, I go looking for pizza. Surely, in Dallas, there would be a pizza place open until at least 1:00 AM. I go Googling. Nothing near the airport claimed to be open. Not that such would have been my first choice. It's a 30 minute drive from the airport back to the house. Cold pizza is not nearly as enticing as hot pizza. What about near the house? Surely my humble suburb had a Domino's open late? According to their website, yes, they had a location just a few miles from my house that was open until 1:00AM.

Huzzah. The tired traveler is saved from starving to death.

Not so fast garlic sauce.

I call the number. It's 12:06 AM. I sit on hold for 8 minutes while a lovely computer recorded female voice tells me about all the wonderful employment opportunities available to me at Domino's and someone will be with me shortly to take my order. How freaking busy can a Domino's be on a Monday night just after midnight? Did the Marijuana Growers Convention come to town and no one told me? I grow a tad impatient and hang up. I tried calling back at 12:14AM. Same lovely recording. I have no moved from impatient to peeved. Perhaps some twit is talking to their significant other or playing Pokémon or whatever it is Domino's employees do when they should be answering the PHONE!!!!

Calm down. It's just the hunger making you rage. Their probably all just busy...at midnight...on a Monday.

I call again at 12:21AM. Now, I was expecting at the very least the same cheerful recorded voice saying someone would eventually take my order. The website said they're open until 1:00AM. I expect someone to take orders until 1:00 AM. Or, at least answer the phone and say sorry, last order has to be in by 12:45 or something. So, you can imagine my puzzlement when a new pre-recorded greeting reached my ears proclaiming that Domino's was now closed for the evening.

Oh really. Do tell.

Some smarmy bugger went and flipped a switch rather than take an order. Since this location is on my way home, more or less. I decided to swing by for a little looksee.

You know, it was really tempting, when I arrived at the location at about 12:36 AM, to drive my truck through the front window when I saw no less than 4 Domino's employees standing around doing not much of anything.

A plague of flying monkeys engaging in deviant behavior with footballs upon your store Domino's. I shall never grace your business with my money again.

So, Tuesday dawns. I decided that working from home made perfect sense in light of my late night misadventures. I work in an office where I report to no one directly, and no one reports directly to me. My phone was already forwarded to my work cell phone. As long as I logged in to my computer and answered the phone, no one would know or care where I was.

Wednesday, saw me back at the office. The sniffles and cough had started to settle in for a long winter stay. I kept foolishly thinking it was just allergies. Thursday didn't go any better, and my voice made it known that it was going to make a break for it before the end of the day. By Thursday evening, it was clear something in the viral/bacterial family had gotten a hold of me. It was early to bed after dinner. Unfortunately, it was not a restful night's sleep.

Nausea and a glorious bit of acid reflux woke me up in the wee hours. I spent some quality time in the restroom trying to decide which orifice was going to win the honors of expelling the demons. Since my upper respiratory tract was busy coughing up a lung and waking up The Queen, the traditional exit won the coin toss. I eventually made it back to bed. I assume The Queen did as well. I was beyond caring at that point.

Friday morning dawned with me sleeping through all my alarms and waking at 9:30 AM to a massive headache, more coughing, sneezing and a low grade fever. I texted the boss that work from home was going to be attempted and proceeded to slog through my work day as best as I could manage. I have a vague memory of cooking chili for dinner before collapsing into sleep early again.

Sometime in the night, I relocated to the recliner. I'm not sure that did any good, but it was worth a shot. I could breathe slightly better through one nostril in a semi reclined position as opposed to no nostrils in the fully supine position.

Saturday morning dawned with me back in bed again. The Queen allowed as how she felt like garbage too. Great. Misery loves company. For the last several years, I have been unable to fully enjoy my customary illness remedy: pulling the covers over my head and sleeping for three days. The reason for this is that The Queen has a tendency to get ill at the same time as I. Dreadfully inconvenient since I am her caretaker.

To make matters worse, we were out of drinking water. Yes, we are water snobs. I say "we" referring to the household as a collective whole.  I am more than content to swill tap water when necessary; however, I can easily discern the difference in flavor between filtered water, Fiji water and the taps from several municipalities in our area. So, we buy our water by the 5 gallon refillable bottle. We had 6 of those suckers at one time; but, through attrition and misfortune, we are down to 4.

By the by, water weighs in at about 8 pounds per gallon making one of those bottles, when full, about 40 pounds of  dead weight. Ever try lifting 40 pounds when you have a massive headache? I'm pretty sure that's what a stroke feels like just before it happens.

So, after a slight detour, back to our story. Saturday sees us headed off to the local Whole Foods to refill our water stocks from their carefully filtered sources (don't go there...just don't, there are things I do for love that you will not understand). I suggested to The Queen that a rotisserie chicken and some mac n cheese were ideal options for dinner saving everyone some trouble since I had no bloody intention of cooking. The Queen, in her infinite wisdom, acknowledged that this was a splendid idea.

We returned home at which time I crawled back into bed in a futile attempt to continue with my traditional illness remedy. Dinner was inhaled at some point. The Queen and I watched a couple of movies to distract ourselves. A snack of leftover chili was had. The Queen reported feeling better. I, however, was not.

Which brings us to today. I've been stuck with the same low grade fever. Still coughing and sneezing. Fortunately, the headache has receded from massive to minor inconvenience. The Queen and I have enjoyed a restful day in bed plucking away at our laptops. Until just before 5:00 PM when I received a call from my father in law, Opa.

It seems Opa had taken Oma out for a little drive and his vehicle sprouted a flat tire. Bear in mind, it's 50 degrees outside with the temperature dropping as the sun goes down. I'm the only one in the house capable of changing a flat tire since my father in law has a major hernia issue, Oma wouldn't know the difference between a lug nut and a tire if her life depended on it, M&M hasn't received proper training on vehicle maintenance yet, and The Queen is still on the gimp from injuring her foot a few weeks back.

That leaves me. I get dressed in warm clothing not wanting to make matters worse. Ha. That's funny. I make sure my truck is topped off with fluids (since my truck has all the tools in it and will carry my 3 ton floor jack without a problem). Good thing too. The radiator was a wee bit low as was the oil, and it turns out Opa's vehicle had a jack but no tool to cause the jack to actually do jack about jack.

I prefer my floor jack any way.

I arrive to discover Opa's vehicle parked way, way, way at the back of a new subdivision. They've paved the streets and alleys, but the rest is mud. Somehow, Opa managed to find his way down one of these recently paved alleyways which were not strictly open to the public nor completely finished as the storm water drains had just recently been installed. The Opamobile is parked in an good spot for a tire change thankfully. I get out to inspect the problem and discover that the passenger front tire is completely separated from the rim after getting punctured in the sidewall, and a good bit of the rim has been chewed up and broken off. That's a dead donut right there. No chance of salvaging either rim or tire.

As near as I can tell, Opa didn't see the fact that the recently installed storm drain was sitting neatly inside a formed hole in the concrete paving of the recently paved alley which left just enough room between the pavement and the storm drain for one SUV tire to drop in neatly and off camber enough to get punctured by a wooden stake holding the concrete forms in place. The reason Opa didn't see this is that today's rains had left a muddy pool of water covering the area of the as yet uncompleted storm drain.

Before I had arrived, Opa had managed  to pull the spare tire out of the wheel well. It's a full sized spare for an SUV. Remember Opa? The one with the hernia condition? I appreciate the attempt at helping, but don't kill yourself old man. That's my job.

Anywho, I get what's left of the dead donut off and wisely check the spare before installation. Wouldn't you know it? Not even enough air to register on the tire pressure gauge. Fortunately, I came prepared. My truck is pretty well stocked for a clunker. I grabbed the air pump; and, a few minutes later, we had a properly aired up full size spare.

By now, the sun is down, and I am both chilled and sweating at the same time. Neat trick that. You should try it sometime. I'm out of  breath too. I should really give up this getting sick business since I can't seem to die in peace.

Lug nuts get tightened as much as I'm willing to do without dragging out the torque wrench. Opa gets back in his vehicle and promptly can't find the keys.

[facepalm] You've got to be kidding me.

We search high and low even resorting to frisking poor Oma (you just can't take any chances with those Alzheimer's folks). The keys finally turn up between the center console and the driver's seat where an inadvertent elbow must have knocked them off to (why Opa put them on the center console in the first place is a mystery to me...that man's logic escapes me sometimes).

Now, I'm back home recording this for posterity after consuming some really good Mediterranean food. I'm going to, once again, attempt to pull the covers over my head and sleep.

Good night.

Blogger, I Hate You

I just spent the better part of an hour drafting and editing some content. Blogger blinks, and...poof. No more content. An hour of work wasted.

Friggin' programmable toaster....grumble....it's free, but that's no excuse....snarl...a pox of flaming monkeys on your keyboard....

I'm going to take my allergy clogged head to bed. I might get motivated to try again tomorrow. I might now.

I Seem To Have Hit A Nerve

Yesterday's open letter to the mainstream media has 942 page views recorded by Blogger so far. That's about 10 times my normal page view count for a single post and doesn't include people reading via a feed reader. Me thinks I tapped into a little pent up anger there. Thank you everyone who came by to take a look.

Law of Unintended Consequences

Once again, I apologize for the conspicuous lack of content here of late. This year has been singularly stressful on all fronts, and my time and desire to sit at the keyboard and write anything has been greatly diminished. Even now, I sit in a seminar on bad faith listening to an attorney drone on about how big bad insurance companies get bent over a barrel in the heart of redneck country.

So, I figured I would use the time to do something productive like update my loyal readers (all 4 of you who are left) on the status of M&M's sister.

The short version is that the last 24 hours have been very stressful, and the prognosis is not encouraging.

So, what does that mean? Well, sit back and I will try to click out the long version. Bear with me.

Back before all this started, Texas' long sitting governor (gooberner) Rick Perry had delusions of grandeur and decided he should not seek reelection for yet another term leading the great state of Texas so that he could focus on running to be the Republican nominee for President of the United States (along with 30 something other hopefuls). Cheerleader Rick (he was an Aggie Yell Leader which is the Aggie version of a cheerleader) anointed then Texas Attorney General Greg Abbott as his chosen successor. Greg Abbott (who I have nothing against for the record) was duly elected in predictable red state fashion over the democrat nominee, Wendy Davis (who never had a snow balls chance in Hell's outhouse of winning), and took over the keys to the governor's mansion in January of this year.

One of the first things Governor Abbott did upon taking the reigns was to request a review of Texas Department of Family and Protective Services (Texas' version of child protective services) procedures and policies regarding removal of children from their homes. The idea was that DFPS was removing children from their homes too frequently for minor, easily correctable issues that didn't warrant removal and placement of children in foster care when a suitable "safety placement" was available.

So, the Parental Child Safety Placement process was hatched. The theory is that DFPS would recognize a danger to the child in the home that was serious enough that it was in the best interest of the child to be elsewhere to give the parent time to correct the dangerous condition (e.g. cleaning up the filth, throwing out the dead beat/drug dealing boyfriend, etc.) but which condition was not serious enough to pursue a formal removal into DFPS conservatorship and resulting foster care. The PCSP is intended to be a short term, temporary alternative (ideally less than 60 days) where the odds of the child returning home following correction of the dangerous condition are good and there is a suitable safety placement willing to be a voluntary caregiver under a formal, written agreement.

If you read the guidelines for the PCSP, it's quickly apparent that whoever wrote it didn't quite think through all the consequences and implications of the new policy and how it would gel with the existing policy framework or how it would be applied in practice. There is a huge, unstated, assumption that the voluntary caregiver will be a family member or someone with close, significant contacts with the family.

In practice, reality and the law of unintended consequences beats good intentions into submission every time.

So, what does this have to do with M&M 2.0's situation? She was born just in time for the new procedures to be put in place. Come to find out, DFPS quickly figured out that they could use the new process to intimidate parents in borderline cases into putting their children into safety placements which have NO COURT OVERSIGHT.

In a normal removal case, the DFPS files an emergency removal petition with the court to be granted conservatorship over the child so that the child can be placed in a licensed foster care home or the home of a responsible family member who can be granted temporary custody. In the case of a PCSP, the birth parent retains legal custody of the child but signs an agreement giving temporary care of the child to pretty much anyone they choose.

In M&M 2.0's case, the bios chose to give voluntary custody to someone they allegedly knew from church. Why I say allegedly will become apparent soon enough; however, there is no possibility that these people from church could have had close, significant contact with the family as the bios had only been back in Texas for less than a year at the time of 2.0's birth and the bios had continued their history and practice of couch surfing nomadic living arrangements with whichever friend or drug buddy was willing to put up with them for a while which included locations from all over the north Texas area.

Now, fast forward to yesterday. In November, we had been told that the bios had agreed to extend the safety placement for another 60 or 90 days to give them time to work their services plan (which, in typical bio fashion, they had not been working). We were prepared to wait around until January or February to find out what would happen next.

Then, the DFPS case worker called The Queen yesterday morning to inform us that the voluntary safety placement family was filing suit against the bios for child support (good luck finding blood in that turnip), legal custody (for which they are on shaky legal grounds at best to seek but apparently found someone to actually file the pleading) and a restraining order (me thinks the welcome mat has been withdrawn). The case worker wanted to know if we would be willing to allow visitation between the siblings apparently assuming that this development would go unchallenged by us.

Tee hee...that's so cute. Fertilizer...meet fan.

Come to find out, the safety placement family is not unlike us in that they are childless and incapable of having children of their own. Naturally, they have bonded with 2.0 and want to keep her. Unlike us, they are pursuing questionable legal tactics instead of having patience and faith. Interestingly, they are also claiming they do not know the bios which directly calls into question DFPS' handling of the PCSP which requires that the safety placement have close, significant contacts with the family.

Needless to say, we are not amused.

Cousin L has been informed of these developments, and she has been in contact with the bios. Female bio was reportedly clueless about these developments and does not want to lose her latest offspring but was open to the idea of pulling the voluntary placement from church family and moving 2.0 to our home. Male bio adamantly refuses to consider moving 2.0 to our house and is now threatening Cousin L with termination of all future contact unless Cousin L drops everything and comes to Texas to get 2.0 (you may recall that Cousin L lives in a western state some 1200 miles away).

Meanwhile, The Queen and I await a call back from an attorney recommended to us by our foster care/adoption agency to see what, if any legal recourse we have in this situation.

That's the news fit to print at the moment. Further updates as events warrant.