Just a spoonful

It was a little past noon when I realized I hadn’t eaten all morning. Because I hadn’t been hungry. And I wasn’t in the mood to cook. But now I could use a little something. 

I stared into my cupboard hoping I’d see something quick, easy, and appealing. Soup… canned chicken… tuna… dehydrated potatoes… ramen… refried beans… pancake mix… seasonings… salsa… olive oil… peanut butter… bread… Hmmm, peanut butter. I could make a sandwich. But I wasn’t in the mood for bread. So how about just peanut butter? Sure, I’ve done it before. It turned out to be the perfect thing.

Blinka-blinka-blinka

It’s human nature to notice coincidences. Sometimes we bestow special meaning on the coincidences.

Well, for some reason, the past couple of weeks I’ve thought about the Rolling Steel Tent’s turn signal bulbs. Hmmmm, how long has it been since I last replaced a bulb? How long before I’ll need to do that?

Then yesterday afternoon, while running errands in Yuma, I noticed the dashboard light for my right turn signal was blinking very rapidly, which indicates a bad bulb. Well, there’s that question answered.

But was it the front or rear signal? I hoped it was the front one because it’s easy to change. Simply push a tab on the light assembly, popping it out of the grill. Then just give the socket a quarter turn to remove it and reveal the bulb. The rear lights require unbolting a trim panel and the taillight assembly. Would I be able to find the correct wrench socket, or will it have disappeared, as 10mm sockets tend to do?

So I parked the van and flipped on the turn signal. A tour around the van revealed the front signal was the problem. Okay, easy. However I had forgotten there were two different sized bulbs: one for the turn signal and one for the running lights. I also didn’t remember which was which. I had only one size bulb.

Okay, so which bulb has the broken filament? Um, neither of them. Huh? Well, all I could do at that point is replace the bulb that was the same size as the spare I had. When I removed that bulb I saw what must have been the problem. The connector end of the bulb was blackened. Something had gotten too hot, melting an internal wire. I hadn’t seen this phenomenon before.

I popped in the new bulb and, presto, everything worked properly. I suppose the wise thing would be to replace all the bulbs now. Or to at least make sure I have enough spares of the right size. And a few 10mm sockets.

Ouch

The fold-down cabinet door that serves as my table has a corner very much like a woodcarving chisel. I’ve had a few very minor collisions with it over the years, but I hit it real hard the other day, gouging off a strip of epidermis. I bled for a while, using up a couple of tissues before it eventually clotted. As I learned in Boy Scouts, apply pressure to the wound. Then this morning I accidentally scrubbed off part of the scab. A little more bleeding, a little more pressure with a tissue.

I keep telling myself to do something about that corner. It’s a threat whenever I try to retrieve something from under the bed. Most times I think to put my hand over the corner. Sometimes I forget.

I think I might still have some epoxy putty I could shape a nubbin with. It’s probably stored under the bed. I’ll need to be careful when I check. But I could be stupid.

Human to human

As I was walking into a grocery store a disheveled man pushing a shopping cart filled with his possessions said something to me I didn’t understand—probably because I was expecting he would ask for money. And because my hearing sucks.

I asked, “What?”

He repeated, “You’re nicely color coordinated.”

I was wearing what some might call an outfit rather than a random selection of clothing. My shirt and pants were both the same raw sienna color. And my shoes were a similar yellow-brown. These clothes were bought at separate times but, oh, hey, look how they work together.

The man’s comment surprised me. “Um yeah, it’s sort of a uniform, I guess.”

We shared a chuckle and he went on his way. No panhandling, simply a kind human exchange.

It made me think about how we tend to dehumanize street people, how we think they’re not like us at all. “Oh, they’re all just ___________________.” But we’re not all that different. Sure, some have addictions or mental problems. Some are lazy. Some are scammers or thieves. But so are some of the people with homes. We’re just differentiated by money. Some of the “respectable” people, the “good” people, are as penniless as the beggars, or about to be. And when we’re going through rough times we hope others will see our struggle, see us as a fellow human, and maybe help a little.

By the time all this made its way through my brain and into my heart, the friendly ragged man was gone. I hope I remember these things the next time I cross paths with someone in need—even if they don’t compliment my wardrobe.

Mindless mindfulness

Once again this morning I heard the term mindfulness. I’ve had a vague notion what it was about, but I decided to look it up.

Mindfulness is a mental practice that emphasizes moment-by-moment awareness of thoughts, feelings, bodily sensations, and the surrounding environment. It encourages individuals to observe their internal states without judgment or reactivity, fostering a state of calm and clarity. 

Ah, so basically not having your head up your ass?

I think I’ve been mindful most of my life without ever being taught about it. I suspect it’s the natural way of being—the demeanor—for some people. Calm, observant, not overly distracted.

Decades ago some coworkers were getting heavily into meditation. They talked me into joining in with them. I asked the guru-like person leading the meditation, “In what ways does one change when they meditate?” 

“It can reduce stress, help manage anxiety, relieve depression, and enhance emotional well-being.”



“I’m an easy-going guy. I’m not particularly stressed, anxious, or depressed. I think my emotional well-being is okay.”

He replied, “Then you probably don’t need meditation.”

Now, I was a mental and emotional mess when I was a kid, mostly because I was new at this Life thing. And I was powerless. And frustrated. And easily embarrassed. But things changed in my twenties, largely because I had control of my life. And largely because of my demeanor.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad there are things that help stressed, anxious, depressed people with racing minds. I would love it if everyone was at peace with themself and the world. Do whatever works for you. For me, it’s usually taking a nap.

Covering my lower half

I’ve worn jeans nearly every day the past 50 years. I had eight pairs when I started as a nomad. After I lost nearly 100 pounds during cancer treatment I donated my fat jeans and resupplied with new ones three sizes smaller. 

But a strange thing happened as I became less skeletal and had to go up a size. I bought other types of pants, like chinos, hiking pants, and lightweight cargo-ish pants, not jeans. They just seemed to be what I wanted rather than jeans. Was it an age thing? I don’t know.

Finishing the laundry

A few days ago I dropped off some clothing at a charity thrift store. That left me with just one pair of jeans. And I hadn’t worn that pair in a couple of weeks. Younger me would never have imagined this happening.

Home for the holidays

The fly armada

History review: In 1588 the English navy faced 130 massive Spanish warships. England defeated Spain, and one of the reasons was the English ships were smaller and more maneuverable, and smaller targets as well.

The present: Warm-ish weather in the low desert of California means my doors and windows are open and the flies are out. The large flies are relatively easy to swat, but the tiny ones zip all over the place, landing for fractions of a second.

I know, I’ve complained about flies before and y’all have suggested various solutions. I’ve tried them and either they didn’t work in my case or were a greater inconvenience than the flies. But complaining helps me cope.

Lag time

In case you’ve forgotten your astronomy lessons

YAY! Winter Solstice! We’ll get a couple minutes more sunlight each day, and the light will be more direct, therefore more warming.

So, if things are supposedly getting warmer, why are January and February usually the coldest months in the northern hemisphere?

It’s because of a thing called seasonal lag. Come on, Spring, don’t be a slowpoke! Get your ass in gear and catch up with our expectations! Right?

Ah, if only it were that easy. See, the planet is a giant heat sink. The oceans and land soak up heat all summer. Then they slowly release the heat through late summer and autumn. By the end of December the northern hemisphere has nearly run out of warmth. It takes a while for the increasing sunlight to bring things back up to full operating temperature.

But the planet isn’t really to blame. It has no choice, because of astrophysics, thermodynamics, and stuff. We get all cranky about lingering winter because of the calendar we’ve laid atop the natural system.

However, I have a ridiculous solution. We should build a massive network of inter-hemisphere HVAC ducts that send warming air to the cold hemisphere and cooling air to the hot hemisphere. We could call it the Big Blow Job. The ducts could also serve like pneumatic message tubes for humans. Enter a portal in one place and, svoooop-clunk, pop out somewhere else. No more horrible airline seats.

Wheeeeee! Argentina here I come!

Forget all the climate disruption and ecological damage the system would do. It’s a small price to pay for human comfort and the end of confusion about what the temperature should be.

Or we could get all zen about it and throw the calendar away. What day is it? There is only today. When will it get warmer/cooler? When it does.

So today I’ll enjoy the pleasant low desert weather.

Livin’ a life of luxury

I came across this statement and felt it applied to my nomadic life:

 

Things people like that I don't understand

Left to right: Arizona, Colorado River, California

I was walking in West Wetlands Park in Yuma today. As I strolled I thought about how the only people in a place like this in the middle of a workday are park maintenance guys, moms with little kids, and retirees like me. 

Then, almost on cue, a retirement-aged couple bicycled past. They were dressed in identical cycling clothes—the spandex kind emblazoned with the graphics of some pro cycling team.

Sort of like this AI-generated image

First, I don’t really get why some couples dress alike. It’s fun for them, I guess, but it’s just kind of weird to me unless they’re going to a costume party. (A slight divergence here: My then-wife’s friends decided to throw a birthday party for her. They thought it would be fun for everyone to dress like her. She had a rather distinctive style. If they had judged the costumes, I would have won, because I wore her actual clothes.)

Second, why do so many hobbyist cyclists wear team outfits? I guess it’s sort of like sports fans wearing their team’s jerseys. Or is it a form of cosplay where they imagine they’re in the Tour de France or Olympics? Or did the bike shop sales guy talk them into it? “You’re going to need some padded pants, you know. And you shouldn’t wear, like, a T-shirt, because you’ll be soaked in sweat. I highly suggest this fetching ensemble. And we have color-matched shoes to go with it.” I mean, if one just wanted function there are plenty of plain bike pants, shirts, onesies and such. (And spandex does no favors for lumpy septuagenarian bodies.) But… I guess they like it. That’s all that matters, even if I don’t understand. It’s none of my business. And, no doubt, other people have plenty of opinions about my choices.

Will this change be for better, or worse, or neutral?

Well, Robert Marshall, the very old owner of BCM Mail and Ship in Quartzsite, has passed away. Frankly, I was surprised to see him still behind the counter when I picked up my package there last month.

There’s a notice on their redesigned website that the business has new owners. The new site lacks some of the features the old one had. I emailed them to learn about changes. It is (at this time, anyway) still at the same location, using the same addresses. Okay. So at least there’s no immediate need for me to do changes of address with various entities.

In the past, when they notified me of mail arriving, I could go to a link and see scans of the envelopes or shipping labels. Then I could instruct them whether to forward, hold for pickup, or discard them. Now they will scan only if you ask, and there’s a $5 charge. Then, if you want any of it forwarded, there’s another $5 charge. Um, I don’t like that. About the only important mail I get is the very occasional letter from Social Security, Medicare, IRS, or State of New Mexico. Everything else can be tossed. (I’m lookin’ at you, AARP.) And when I’m in the general Quartzsite region in winter I might have a package shipped there. My needs are small.

Another mail service had opened around the corner from BCM last year, and I wonder if that is affecting prices and services. A quick look at their site shows they nickel and dime you, too.

Oh well. Life keeps changing.

Good morning from Huntington Beach, CA

Considering how health and beauty conscious California is, it’s pleasant to see the walkway sign was modeled after an average human physique.

I guess I’m always prepared

I was checking the national weather forecast when I video came up about the number one mistake drivers make in winter weather. Take a second to guess.

He said it was that they leave the house without adequate clothing in case you get stuck and need to spend the night in your car.

Well, my car has all my winter clothing. It also has food and water. And heat. So I’m good.

But to me, the bigger mistake is simply being anywhere dangerously cold.

A break from the desert

Although I'm not ready to go to Baja (and I'm having second thoughts about it) I am ready to be by the ocean again. It's not amazing beach weather, but it's pretty good for the middle of December.

I spent last night camped just outside Borrego Springs, on the western edge of the desert. It got down to freezing overnight. Brrrrr. Then I cruised up and over the coastal mountains on nice and mostly deserted two-lane roads. The last few miles had some annoying traffic and badly timed lights, but it's a small and temporary price to pay for time at the beach.