Hen and chicks

Back yard brood.

Army Buddy checks in with surprise photo

Bob Morecook sent best wishes on Veteran's Day to his old Army office mate and thoughtfully included this photograph, probably taken in 1971 by a photo specialist in an adjacent Signal Corps office with nothing better to do and some extra frames on a roll needing to be developed. (remember that?) Bob eventually got ordered to Vietnam and served as an anchor on the Armed Forces Radio and TV Network. He is credited with broadcasting the official announcement of the end of the hostilities for the U.S. Meanwhile, Sgt. Rolfsrud was safe at home.
Bob writes from Houston, Texas: Thanks SGT Stanley Rolfsrud, 13th Support Brigade Public Information NCO, Fort Hood Texas 1971 -- for your service. Best wishes

Looking for Jesus? We've got his cell number

Turns out, he's a stucco guy.
We're working on a bar top with some slots for basket storage drawers here at the Winter Place and needed a couple of short blocks of wood for spacers. There's a pile of scrap lumber of uncertain origin out in the garage. Dozens of workmen have combined to construct this busy neighborhood and you always check for a scrap when you need the odd piece of wood. This leftover stuff is called "Mungo."
Today we struck gold in the mungo pile. We pulled out a piece of solid lumber, knot free, probably from some fine finish carpentry upgrade somewhere. Looks like poplar. They get six dollars a foot for a solid clear chunk like this at Home Depot. As we examined our find, before cutting, routing and sanding it, we noticed an added feature to this otherwise pristine piece.
Some anonymous workman had carefully jotted down a name and phone number.
"Jesus - Stucco Guy - 951-255-5097.
Call us sentimental, call us provident. But we won't be sanding this information off the raw poplar block before we seal it, shape it, and screw it down.  Erase Jesus' number? You gotta be kidding.

Wonder if he knows of a carpenter.

We stop to smell the roses.

Last night's light rain freshened these fragrant specimens, enjoyed over morning coffee.

Tip of the Week for Senior Citizen Painters

It may be useful to position a lounge chair in the center of the area to be painted as a convenient retreat when your hands, arms, legs, etc., tire. Be sure that everything within range of shaking paint brushes is covered with drop cloths, Drippy, including your lounge chair.
"Weary limbs make mistakes, seniors need to take their breaks."
We're mixing "Nano White" trim with "Seashore Fog" grey walls and "Valley Mist" minty blue accessories to try to achieve an airy, beachy feel in the bedroom. White ceiling, dark wood floor.
We've carefully studied the walls during extensive study periods on the lounge chair and believe this may actually work.

Assembly completed

It arrived in seven flat cardboard boxes, trucked across the country from eastern Canada and dumped on a pallet in the garage.
The Costco Wallbed has been assembled and the counter-balance system works perfectly, making it easy to raise and lower the queen bed. It took a couple of days and we have a small bag of parts left over... but we think the Canadians just threw in some extra screws and washers before shipping it to California for assembly. A couple of the drawers aren't as level as they should be, adjustment instructions are on Page 17.
On the way back from Lowe's, we ordered a queen mattress and were delighted to learn we wouldn't be forced to buy an unneeded box spring as well. A flexible foundation is built in to the wall system and is pretty cool. We haggled with Akira and got a Beauty Rest for a good price at an outfit called "Sleep Train." We checked out the offerings at Living Spaces as well, but returned and closed the deal and will sleep on the new mattress tonight.

THREE ON A MATTRESS
The ladies at Sleep Train with another client.

We'll deflate the air bed.

A lesson in the importance of foot care

As far as I know, the coach had just two pairs of street shoes. One was a pair of worn light brown oxfords, with some kind of rippled composition sole that looked very soft and comfy; the other was a pointy-toed pair of shiny cowboy boots: genuine shit-kickers, you know, the real thing.

The throngs attending Alexandria high school basketball games in the late 50s and 60s knew exactly the purpose of those sturdy boots. On occasions deemed appropriate, perhaps when a referee blew a call, Mr. Connor would turn about and lay into the nearest bleacher plank, and with a single stroke deliver a sonic wave of shock and awe throughout the building . . . stunning our visiting guests as well, who were understandably unaccustomed to such expressions of displeasure.

Coaches Connor and Gustafson
On game nights they wore sport coats and street shoes.

Listeners reported hearing these seismic events broadcast over the play-by-play coverage on KXRA.

Older hands would nod and wink at this occasional dramatic gesture, but we simpler folk thought it to be quite sincere and heartfelt, and it scared us.

We always called him Mister Connor. He was a qualified member of what became known as the Greatest Generation. A proud ex-Marine who’d seen action in the Pacific, he watched the TV series “Combat,” because it was pretty realistic, he said, with everybody getting down in the mud and all. “That’s what it was really like,” he remarked once on a team bus ride to somewhere. A short, muscular man with a buzz cut, he had excelled playing basketball for Hamline, at a time when the two-handed push shot from far away was popular.

Years later, now wearing his coach’s whistle and Converse All-Stars, he could still hit that shot consistently from mid-court.

I think he liked being thought of as one tough son-of-a-bitch. I respected his stern authority, speaking only after being recognized, but I knew much of his gentle, kind side as well. Every night before practice and on game nights too, Coach Connor carefully taped my wobbly sprain-prone ankles. He had a caring, sensitive touch, and better taping skills than his assistant, who might tape a bit too tight, cutting circulation. Mr. Connor took good care of my feet.

It was mid-season one cold Friday night in 1964 and the mighty Alexandria Cardinals had just finished off yet another worthy opponent. But this night there were vague and hushed rumors in the showers, something about an incident that night on the bench, an injury to Mr. Connor or something, somebody said, but nothing for certain.

The next day, Saturday, the team had boarded for a road trip to Detroit Lakes. No one spoke as Mr. Connor hobbled toward the bus on a cane, his right foot trussed into an over-sized slipper. He did not smile as he limped aboard and took his usual place beside his assistant in the front seat. No one said nothin'.

But I sat within earshot and eventually, as we progressed down the road, was able to piece it all together from my perch behind him.

“I heard that hall clock go off at one and at two and three this morning,” he remarked to his assistant, Mr. Gustafson, as he described the excruciating pain that had kept him awake all night.

In a moment of pique the previous evening, Mr. Connor had laid into the bench. Hard. Unfortunately, this time, Mr. Connor was improperly shod. “I forgot,” he sheepishly confided to his seat mate, “that I was wearing my other shoes.”

The foot now swollen and bound, the trusted cowboy boots remained in the closet for the rest of the season, and a chastened Mr. Connor had to just holler at the refs like everybody else.

Some assembly required

Half of the box spring at left.

The Wall Bed and Storage Units from Costco were waiting in the garage when Stan got to the project house in California Sunday. He went right to work.
He's followed assembly instructions from the Swedes okay, assembling countless bookshelves, dressers and tables, but this wall bed (Murphy Bed) is a new thing. . . and it is made by the Canadians with only the metal parts coming from China.
There's a bit more English in the instructions, millimeters and inches and plenty of pictures, and the product is a lot sturdier than the typical IKEA offering. But sturdier is heavier and the weight of this thing is onerous.
We finished the drawers and the framework, now comes the actual metal bed that is spring loaded. We'll take a break and go shopping.
First up, a queen sized mattress that can't be thicker than 12 inches or weigh less than 70 pounds. The box spring is built in. Will he be forced to buy a box spring anyway?

LA seatmate is a gamer

By day he's an over-the-road truck driver out of his hometown of Windom, Minnesota. In his spare time, he's a video gamer of some renown. He's a self-taught techie and has mastered specialized voice-over-protocols for international networks of video-gamers playing StarCraft and other similar contests. This morning he's headed to Anaheim for a convention of 30,000 like-minded millennials, where he'll give seminars on sophisticated communications systems linking gamers. Josh says he does this just for fun, but apparently he's good enough at it to have a car waiting for him at LAX.
Stan tried to hold up his end of the conversation, but was soon in over his head and was reduced to discussing favorite interstate routes across the Great West heading to places like Tucson and Phoenix. The young truck driver from Windom knows the country and had plenty of stories to tell. Ask him about sharing the road while driving on ice.

The travel mates congratulated themselves on their choice of seating: Front row on Spirit Airlines. The very best seats on the nation's worst-rated and most-quirky airline. We had a great flight, and at $118 one way, money left over to spend in LA. (When we arrived, the flight attendant warned over the public address to be careful when removing bags from the overhead, because sometimes during the flight "shift happens.")
We arrived in plenty of time for today's thrilling finish to the Vikings-Bears game. What more do you want from an airline?