Monday, November 29, 2010

Browsing. Watching football. Playing some poker with indifferent results. So, what then had I really done?

Well, nothing. It was a fine Sunday. I had thought to rest the BBQ (why I did that with two fine steaks in the freezer I don’t know) in favor of the crock pot. Have you ever sat down and tried to figure out how long it takes a crock pot to crock?

Yeah, in the between times you starve. Well. I rested the BBQ and the Homemade Peach Pie is gone. Vanished. Knowing why doesn’t help. There isn’t any more. Gone. I made – I didn’t make, the crock pot did, I supervised and added inspiration, a stew.

That doesn’t sound inspiring. However, at a certain point and continuing until insanity and the first bowl, the smell drove me nuts. The dogs also. True. GAWD, who has never until Sunday seen the inside of this house, let alone any human house, came all uninvited into my kitchen and straight to the crock pot and sat.

I didn’t write down the stuff I put into the crock pot. Not this time. Not ever have I done that. I wish I had, I’d call the stew Dog Caller Stew. Pillsbury would probably pay me a million dollars for it.

This morning the left over meal smells just like what it is: dead meat. I’m a bit afraid to warm it up. Maybe if I let it alone it will ferment. I could strain the veggie strings out and add a bit of clear water, bottle it and make my fortune. Maybe. Maybe not. It’s that recipe thing, unscientific not being able to duplicate results, you see.

photoshare Sturgeon Bay Coast Guard Station Sturgeon Bay WI tj1959

I walk the dog several times a day (and night. I don’t sleep well.). This morning I grabbed the flashlight, one of those high dollar, high end things that cast a three cell beam a quarter mile in the sunlight, and walked the dog.

Returning, I was greeted by the blue lights of the Gateway computer system, here in the house. The blue light with the new technology I use for night lights and have placed two layers of First Aid Waterproof medical tape across to deaden the glow.

I looked at the flashlight; I looked at the computer; I looked at the picture of the light house, and thought a bit.

The function of the light house is to warn, as far out to water as possible and provide positioning information. The lights are powerful and expensive, and the lens are made to defuse in a controlled way the beam. Diffusion dilutes range, broadens the base target of the light and generally reaches the compromise of usability and costs.

Except you need a supporting system. Which requires structure and people. Lighthouse keepers are expensive and a dying breed, however much the average person would love to be a lighthouse keeper.

GPS tells the ships captain where he is on the darkest and stormiest of nights. The problem with the GPS is the switch. Yeah. A flick of the switch in times of crisis and GPS is history. The government controls the switch,  like most everything. But ships are not instantaneous  movers though. So light houses should be kept.

Although, as I’ve said, looking at my three cells light and the computer lights, a simple pole of sufficient height, a sun powered battery battery, a timer, an access road of dirt, a four wheeler ATV, a volunteer and Viola; a travelling lighthouse keeper in blue jeans and windbreaker, designer sunglasses, and safety for all.

photoshare Best Friends North Bend OR DimaBarashkov

I will admit that the idea of automated lighthouses takes the romance from the system, however.


From the reaches,

Ten Mile

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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