Update to Previous Blog

As many of you are quite aware, I keep up with the news, and the local news gave me and  a majority of others here much comfort. 

The news is that the killer I mentioned in the blog I wrote in June had killed his three daughters. The weeks that followed more information became revealed that Travis Decker had serious mental health problems including PTSD from his military service when he toured Iraq. He tried to get the help he felt he needed, but for reasons no one could justify, was denied that help. 

Last week, searchers found his remains at a cliff above the site where he killed and disposed of their bodies. Predators had done their job in disposing of his remains making it identifying his remains a challenge. It is as written in the Bible, God is the final arbitrator of justice. 

I honestly believed that he more than likely committed suicide probably within hours of killing his three daughters. The pain and hopelessness he had to have experienced was probably compounded by his realization of what he had done. 

No word on the individual who killed a horse in Deer Park, but I’m sure eventually his time will come too. I hope so because as I mentioned in that blog I wrote in June, that’s how serial killers get started by killing animals first. 

Antifa Hunting We Go

Joe Buck went to the local market where his buddies of like mindedness hung out at a pair of tables where paying customers ate deli meals like Jo-Jos and the store’s famous monster tacos.  

Rob Roy laughed to an off-colored joke about Barack Obama when he came in. “Joe, you heard the news?” 

“If it ain’t on Fox, It ain’t news, Rob.” 

“Well it seems President Trump done designated Antifa a terrorist organization and he’s gonna round them rascals up and get them arrested.” 

“Well, don’t that beat all. You know what an antifa looks like?” Joe asked the group. They all shook their heads no. “Me neither. I couldn’t begin to tell what one looks like from the other.” 

“Well, maybe the President knows what they look like,” Rob volunteered. “He keeps telling us they’re vermin and a disgrace to us true American patriots.” 

“He tells us all sorts of things, Roy,” Billy Joe snickered and laughed. “How about those gasoline prices going way down? Or price of eggs for that matter.” 

“Billy, you are looking more and more like an antifa the more you talk bad about our president,” Joe exclaimed. 

“Well excuse me for having an opinion,” Billy Joe rebutted. “He might be better than Biden, but not by much. They’re both old as dirt and dumb as rocks. What we need is someone who gets the job done but keeps his mouth shut when it ain’t his concern.” 

“You got a point there, Billy,” Rob Roy told him. “Maybe—wait what does antifa mean?” 

“Back during World War Two it meant anti-fascist,” Jerry, the quiet one chimed in from a back table sitting in the back chair near the window. 

“Oh how I hate you know-it-all college boys,” Joe Buck exclaimed. “I supposed we best get our antifa tags down at the sporting goods store. I wonder how much the state charges for that tag.”  

“Yeah, and whether there’s a bag limit,” Rob Roy exclaimed with a hearty laugh. 

Tommy Boy

“Meow, I’m Tommy the kitten abandoned by an evil human family and now living with this wonderful human named Master Jerry. He’s really old and don’t walk very well, and his left arm and hand can’t pet me like the other one can.” 

“But, enough about him. It is after all about me.” 

“Will you stop,” Elsa exclaimed in frustration. 

“What? I am the star of this story after all.” 

“Yeah, and I’m Cleopatra’s African Gray.” 

“Who? What? You confused me. I don’t like that. Plus we’re getting away from the story, you mangy bird you!” 

“Fine, you tell your version and next week I’ll tell mine.” 

“Wait, you did when I first got here. You told them about Master Jerry getting me and how you thought he’d lost his mind, and that it wasn’t funny. I remember, but obviously you don’t.” 

“I’ll tell another version, then,” Elsa declared as she scratched an itch behind her neck. 

“Anyway, back to the story. My name is Tommy, but before that these evil humans, as a form of a sick joke, named me Ducky. I’m a cat! K-A-T. cat and maybe they were already punishing me just by naming me that ridiculous name. But that was just the beginning. 

“I was just a wee kitten when they got me and introduced me to their human child. I noticed by the broken toys and mutilated stuffed animals; I was in for a nightmare existence here.” 

‘Kitty,’ “it exclaimed as the toy it had was discarded to the floor and he or she grabbed me and tried twisting my head off my body. I immediately used my kitten powers by clawing and scratching the demon child until it let go and went crying at his parents. 

“After that, I was put in a box like container, placed in a dark room and left there. How long? I have no idea. But then the woman fed me, and I was given a litter box and ignored for another long time. 

“The man parent came in and played roughly with me, which I didn’t care for, but also didn’t mind because at least I was given some attention. Finally he too tired of me and left me in that cold dark room for all eternity as far as I was concerned. 

“The demon child came into the room one day and tried kicking and hitting at me, but I was too quick for his moves that were slow and clumsy. The mother came in and smacked his bottom so hard the child screamed in pain and ran from the room. She looked at me with contempt, as though I was to blame for that child’s bad behavior. 

“Finally, one day a man came into the room. He was a stranger. I was placed inside a cage and there were many other people milling about too. They were all strangers, and I felt a deep fear and foreboding that something awful happened here. To this day I don’t know what it was. I smelled things that a young kitten probably shouldn’t smell, yet it permeated the house as I was taken away and later brought to another place. 

“I stayed at this place where other kittens, cats, puppies, and dogs lived. We all discussed current affairs, the weather and who would be lucky enough to get adopted first on this day or that. 

“On the day I was adopted by Master Jerry, I just knew he liked me by how he looked at me with his kind eyes, his smile and the smooth voice that assured me he was a gentle soul. I experienced none of that at that other house with those evil people. 

“So, there you have it to this point anyway.” 

“Yeah well, my version is how you constantly pick on me, and I have to stand my ground against you, you nasty old cat you,” Elsa exclaimed in ill-humor. 

“You’re just jealous because Master Jerry lets me out in the morning and you’re stuck inside that cage.” 

“There are, as he warned you and me, more dangerous creatures out there. He’s just taking better care of me, that’s all.” 

“Oh whatever, Elsa.” 

What the…?

My first reaction was I wasn’t even aware of who this person was. Then come to find out Charlie Kirk was a conservative activist and influencer that apparently helped Trump retake the presidency last year. 

As all my readers know, I’m not a conservative. But that being said, I also abhors political violence in any guise. It smacks of anarchy and doesn’t promote civil governance, discourse, or debate. It sends a message to everyone around the world that this country is still backward living in the wild west, and we aren’t civilized or intelligent enough to lead this planet. 

I have no problem debating the issues that matter most to me and expect whoever opposes me will do so civilly and not threaten violence or insult. Unfortunately, this country has never been famous for civil discourse or debate. Too many times, violence rules the day regardless of time.  

I grew up learning as a child about John Kennedy’s assassination, and to this day,  no one knows for certain why Lee Harvey Oswald shot him. Jack Ruby silenced that query when he shot Oswald.  

At least the assassination of Robert Kennedy was more clear-cut, mostly because Sirhan Sirhan lived to be tried and convicted, telling the world he hated Kennedy because he supported Israel and Sirhan was Palestinian. 

There were others too that be it madness or some other issue, such as David Chapman killing John Lennon because he believed he was John Lennon. 

Now, it seems school shootings have grabbed the headlines, and until today, political assassinations took a back seat. I have hoped and prayed this kind of mass violence would end in the near future. But unfortunately, that is a pipe dream.  

The Joy of Celebrating My Birthday

Reflections, Traditions, and New Beginnings 

This is my personal holiday, a moment for introspection, celebration, and connection. Every year, as my birthday approaches, I find myself swept up in the gentle tide of anticipation—not just for gifts, which have come fewer and fewer over the years, and well-wishes, but for the opportunity to pause, reflect, and cherish the journey I have traveled and the path that lies ahead. 

Anticipating the Day: Childlike Excitement That Never Fades 

There is a certain magic that accompanies the arrival of my birthday. Even as the years add up, the thrill remains unchanged; like Christmas there’s a flutter in my chest the night before, a smile that appears with the sunrise. The day feels different, touched by an aura of possibility. I wake up to messages from friends and family, each one a thread in the tapestry of my life, weaving together memories, laughter, and love. 

From my earliest birthdays, when balloons and cake were the highlights, to more recent celebrations filled with meaningful conversations and small gestures that creates a cherished tradition. It is a reminder not only of how far I’ve come, but of all the people who have walked beside me along the way. 

  • Connecting with Loved Ones: Birthdays draw people together. Whether it’s a surprise visit, a phone call from afar, or a simple text, these connections anchor me, reminding me that I am part of something larger than myself. 
  • The Cake and Candles: No matter my age, I never tire of making a wish and blowing out the candles. Each flame represents a dream, and each wish is a promise to pursue joy in the coming year. 
  • A New Tradition—Acts of Kindness: Recently, I have found joy in giving back on my birthday: donating, volunteering, or simply offering a smile to strangers. It turns the day into an opportunity to spread happiness beyond myself. 

Lessons Learned: Growth, Gratitude, and Hope 

Each birthday is both an ending and a beginning. As the candles are lit and the birthday song echoes, I find myself reflecting on the lessons the past year has offered. There have been moments of joy and sorrow, challenge, and triumph, each one a steppingstone along my path. 

  • Growth often comes disguised as adversity, which in turn becomes an opportunity and a challenge to overcome. The setbacks I have faced have shaped me, teaching resilience and patience. 
  • Gratitude transforms even the simplest moments into treasures. By appreciating the present, I find peace and happiness, regardless of what the future holds. 
  • Hope is the engine of possibility. As I make a wish and look ahead, I am reminded that each year is a new canvas, waiting for my dreams and efforts to bring it to life. 

The Role of Community: Sharing Joy and Building Connection 

My birthday is not only about me; it is also a celebration of the people who enrich my life. Family, friends, colleagues, and even acquaintances come together, their presence infusing the day with warmth and meaning. The laughter and camaraderie shared during birthday gatherings foster a sense of belonging—not just for me, but for all who participate. 

Sometimes, I use my birthday as a reason to reunite with those I haven’t seen in a while, rekindling relationships, and renewing bonds. The joy of reconnecting, of weaving together new stories, is as valuable as any gift. 

Looking Forward: Setting Intentions for the Year Ahead 

As my birthday draws to a close, I like to set intentions for the year to come. Rather than resolutions dictated by obligation, I choose aspirations that inspire and motivate me. These intentions may be simple—practicing kindness, pursuing curiosity, embracing change—or ambitions, such as embarking on a new project or learning a new skill. 

Writing these intentions in my blog, I feel a sense of purpose and excitement. My birthday becomes a launching pad, propelling me into the next chapter with courage and hope. 

A Day That Belongs to Me 

What makes my birthday truly special is its intimacy day that is uniquely mine, shaped by my choices, my memories, and my dreams. No matter how I choose to celebrate, the day always holds a quiet magic, a reminder of the beauty of being alive and the privilege of growing older. 

Bob’s Epiphany

On an August day six years ago Bob Awoke late in the afternoon. He felt like crap as his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his hands shook from the burnout and the morning after the night before when he last got high with friends.  

He knew they really weren’t his friends. He had the dope, and they came to him to share. He needed them, at least he liked telling himself that he needed them. They appeared decent enough though on occasion he lose his dope. They’d offer to help find it, but when they couldn’t, he just found his dealer and bought some more heroin because it was expected. They were his friends after all. 

This day maybe would be different, he thought to himself as he dragged himself off the concrete sidewalk. Was he still in Spokane or back in Seattle? He couldn’t remember and both places in this part of downtown seemed alike in so many ways. The same down and out transients, druggies and gang bangers appeared and disappeared, only to reappear. 

Sometimes they came back clean and promised themselves they had changed and were turning a new leaf. That lasted maybe a month at the most, only to see them relapse, then disappear. 

Bob wasn’t going to let that happen. He had become sick and tired of being sick and tired every single day. He walked along the sidewalk and for some reason found himself walking inside a church. He didn’t know why. He sat at the nearest pew and looked up at the cross behind the altar. 

Bob for some reason felt at peace here. It was quiet inside. The coolness from the overhead fans was in stark contrast to the blazing heat outside from where he came. A bible was set on a shelf behind the pew facing him. He remembered going to Sunday School when he was very young, but then the divorce and the blame and he never went back and never looked back. He had no regrets then. 

Now on this day though, as he opened the Holy Bible and read various passages, he came upon Psalms 119 and read, “Psalm 119[a] 

א Aleph 

1 Blessed are those whose ways are blameless, 

    who walk according to the law of the Lord. 

2 Blessed are those who keep his statutes 

    and seek him with all their heart— 

3 they do no wrong 

    but follow his ways. 

4 You have laid down precepts 

    that are to be fully obeyed. 

5 Oh, that my ways were steadfast 

    in obeying your decrees! 

6 Then I would not be put to shame 

    when I consider all your commands. 

7 I will praise you with an upright heart 

    as I learn your righteous laws. 

8 I will obey your decrees; 

    do not utterly forsake me. 

ב Beth 

9 How can a young person stay on the path of purity? 

    By living according to your word. 

10 I seek you with all my heart; 

    do not let me stray from your commands. 

11 I have hidden your word in my heart 

    that I might not sin against you. 

12 Praise be to you, Lord; 

    teach me your decrees. 

13 With my lips I recount 

    all the laws that come from your mouth. 

14 I rejoice in following your statutes 

    as one rejoices in great riches. 

15 I meditate on your precepts 

    and consider your ways. 

16 I delight in your decrees; 

    I will not neglect your word.” 

Bob continued reading this verse and felt a lightness flow into his heart and for the first time in his young life he prayed. “Lord Jesus accept this sinner into your presence so that I may be clean and pure and live by your decrees just as this person did so long ago in this bible verse I just read. I am accepting you into my heart. Please do the same for me because I need awakening and healing and your love. I don’t want to die and not be in your presence dear Lord. Amen.” 

He opened his eyes and saw the preacher smiling down at him. “Are you ready to be baptized my son?” 

“Yes, yes I think I am, reverend.” 

“Come with me and I will help lead you down the proper path. Do you wish to be clean from drugs and alcohol too?” 

“Yes, I am and want to be clean.” 

“Then come with me, my son and you will be saved as you have chosen.” 

Bob arose and followed the preacher to the altar. He felt alive for the first time in his life. 

Campout Day Three

We packed our stuff and Tamera and Sonya helped me with that tent. I explained to them what my grandson Isaac explained: pull the tent closed and tight then fold over into a figure eight and then place it inside the nylon holder to be zipped up.  

It was definitely a two-person operation, three if you counted me holding the nylon holder while they placed it inside and I zipped it up. We then gathered the rest of the food and put it all away. 

“You are going to take the trash down, aren’t you?” Tamera asked. It came across more as a statement; like a command than a request or question. 

“Certainly,” I replied. Then I quipped, “I could just accidentally forget and make the custodian or whatever he calls himself take it down.” 

We both laughed but then she sobered, “And I’ll send you the bill that I’m sure he will mail to me for leaving the campsite without taking the trash. It’s just down there by the gate as we’re leaving the campsite.” 

We gave each other farewell hugs and then got inside our vehicles and left the park behind. The whole event felt somewhat bittersweet, as all our reunions have. I don’t know if everyone feels this way about seeing relatives, especially siblings in the same light, but I tend to welcome seeing my sisters and their family, then am saddened that I have to leave them. Sometimes tears are shed, and I get emotional as I was on Friday upon seeing them since last year. 

Anyway, we had already decided to take another route. They wanted to go as far as Waitsburg, then take US 12 to Walla Walla and south the College Place and Milton Free-water before getting on I-84 and continuing south. I informed them I would go on toward Clarkston and head north on US-195.  

I took the left onto SR 124, and she led the way. She kicked in her afterburners, leaving me in her dust. I might have thought of punching it and seeing if I could keep up, except for a deputy sheriff driving his Explorer had just turned onto the highway off another road, and I just let her win that race. 

Once I reached Waitsburg I was pleasantly surprised at seeing them at the intersection of Highway 12. East toward Lewiston and right would take them to Walla Walla and beyond. I pulled in behind them while Tamera got out, smiling at me.  

“Sonya’s hungry and wants to get something to eat.” 

“Ron’s stepdad had a restaurant here some time ago, but he passed, and I think Ron sold what he had in the business. I noticed a hardware store now occupies that building. I don’t think there’s anywhere else to eat here,” I told her.  

Ron was a good friend of mine who served in the National Guard for a time before he and his stepdad bought this little restaurant and tried to make something out of it. But that was thirty years ago. I went there twice, once with my former roommate to go on a camping and fishing weekend near Dayton and another weekend that I spent with Ron and his family. They lived in an available apartment on the second floor above the restaurant. 

“I know. I think we’ll see if there’s anything in Walla Walla. I thought you were going to try and race me. I was doing over a one hundred when I had to slow it down on that sharp curve near Prescot. Then just as I slowed way down to negotiate that low and behold a deputy comes from the other direction.” 

“That would have been a very expensive ticket,” I told her with a laugh. “Well the reason I didn’t take you up was for that very reason too. Some deputy had just pull onto the highway from another road and went past me.” 

We both laughed then she went back to her car, and they took the right turn going to Walla Walla and I turned left going toward Clarkston. After eight miles I found myself in Dayton. There was a really nice restaurant called Bernard’s, but the overhead vents were not cleaned regularly and it caught fire and burned to the ground. A vacant lot appeared as the one and only reminder that a restaurant ever existed. I also noticed the old A&W drive-in no longer exists either. 

Columbia Fruit Packers replaced the Green Giant packing plant I noticed as I drove passed that heading out of town and back to the highway. As I mentioned earlier my itinerary was to go to Clarkston and then head north to homebase near Cheney. But then I spotted State Route 127 with Central Ferry and Colfax highway markers and immediately decided to take that route instead. 

An hour later I was in Colfax buying a cup of coffee at a convenience store that not surprisingly sold WSU Cougar merchandise. I took a break and then realized I was starting to get tired and unless I planned to get a hotel room here, I had better get back on the highway and go home. 

I’m home now relishing the trip, being with my sister and niece, and the drive home that ended with no surprises and incidents. Considering past road trips, that in itself is a bargain.  

Campout Day 2

“This is why I like this car!” I told Tamera and Sonya while I passed three John Deere tractors and a pilot vehicle on the Pasco-Kahlotus Road heading toward Levy Park. In no time had I seen my opportunity on the stretch of two-lane paved road cleared and hit the afterburners and was pushing over eighty miles per hour. I saw it was cleared and went back into my lane and lowered the speed to a saner sixty miles per hour. 

Tamera went by the Google map that Levi Park, which she and her ex-boyfriend used to fish at was closed but had a boat launch nearby where we could fish from. I had already resigned myself to not go back to the spot we fished from the evening before. I wasn’t certain my left foot could handle another back and forth of navigating over a trail land mined by half buried rocks and boulders.  

Plus, I also wanted to show these two my car’s abilities to move at break-neck speed without a whimper. Thus, passing those farm implements was icing on the cake for me. I felt so happy. We then found the road we needed and went down a reasonable steep grade to the bank of the Snake River and the closed park with locked gate and a sign stating as much. We then drove back to the boat launch area and walked down to the water’s edge and then Sonya asked Tamera, “Mom where are the worms?” 

As luck would have it, she packed them into a cooler and left the cooler inside her car instead of bringing it to my car. A Dote moment indeed, so we stayed with the tackle we were unsuccessful at last night and of course expected something would change. It was kind of like a crazy man expecting a different outcome from doing the same stupid thing over and over again. 

We had the same result I caught nothing, Tamera caught what I’m certain was the same exact fish from last night that Sonya caught and Sonya was skunk too. We packed up and left about an hour later. I let Tamera drive back. 

Naturally, she had to see for herself how it felt to drive a Dodge Charger over eighty miles per hour. The difference being that she kept going fast until we nearly reached the freeway, then slowed down and merged into traffic on US 12. We crossed the Snake River Bridge, and I was watching the upcoming exit we needed to take to get back up to the highway that led to Charbonneau Park. She drove and I guess was thinking of other places to go before she slept, paraphrasing Robert Frost, and heading south on the freeway. 

“Why is everyone going so slow?” Tamera asked. I looked at the speedometer and it registered sixty miles per hour, the posted speed limit. I shrugged. 

“I guess no one is in any kind of hurry,” I replied. 

“Jerry, did we miss our turn?” 

“Well yeah, but I figured you knew that and just liked driving my car so much you wanted to extend the drive some more.” 
“No, jeez Jerry, I was thinking about what I wanted to eat for lunch.” On the next available road that came up she made a left turn and headed back toward the highway we needed to go on. I just chuckled at her expense. “And why didn’t you say anything?” She asked Sonya. 

“I thought you knew what you were doing and kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t really paying attention either.” 

We parked the car and had lunch. “Can you guess what my most favorite sandwich is Sonya?” 

She eyed the half full jars of peanut butter and honey upon the table. “Peanut butter and honey?” It was more in the form of a statement than a question though. 

“You got it!” I announced as I proceeded to glob onto my bread a heavy dose of peanut butter followed by honey. I cut the sandwich in half and scarfed it down. 

After we finished, Tamera announced, “We’re going tubing. Do you want to come?” 

Without hesitation I answered, “Sure.” Then though, I started thinking about it. Even though I have decent amount of number 70 sunscreen on my arms and face and bared thighs already, the fact they brought just two of those floaties with them, leaving me with nothing to go on, and there was more than likely little or no shade, where as now, here was plenty of shade and I could do some writing on my laptop. 

While I was contemplating and ruminating they discovered that air-filled floaties don’t fit inside my car very well and they had to resort to deflating them so that they would fit and once at their destination reinflate them.  

“Are you ready?” Tamera asked. Deep down she already knew the answer. 

“I think I’ll just stay here. Have fun,” I told them. 

“Oh, we will,” Tamera replied as they got back in my car and drove away. 

I was plenty tired anyway and had in mind to crawl into my tent and try to at least attempt at taking a nap. The heat was palpable though. I’m certain if the ambient temperature in the shade was well above eighty, it was surely ten degrees hotter inside my tent and decided to just sit back, relax, and actually do nothing. I must say, I succeeded quite nicely. 

Two hours later they returned with Sonya driving. She had a pretty sizable grin on her face. “Pretty nice ride, huh?” I asked her when she stepped out of the car. 

“Yeah,” she replied and proceeded to fix something to eat. 

Tamera then told me they went across the river at the Sacajawea State Park where they floated about. It’s where the Columbia and Snake Rivers meet or converge. She and Sonya posted selfies on Facebook. 

We sat about discussing all manner of subjects that included Sonya’s first big job on a Montana ranch that she had to help birth calves in the dead of winter this past year. She didn’t last because she became sick and had to come back to Oregon. A job I certainly couldn’t do even in my much younger days. She’s now a veterinary assistant at a veterinary hospital in Bend. 

Tamera pulled her sleep mattress out and laid on it. She looked absolutely regal. “What we ought to do is Jerry you get on the bed with me, have Sonya take a picture then photo shot us as though we were in the river.” 

I laughed but didn’t get up. I took a picture of her that I later shared. 

We saw the sunset, or as I described to my sister, who concurred, the earth rotated away from the sun to prove we aren’t in the center of the universe. 

I read some more, played more computer games and soon it became dark enough to go to bed. Naturally, my cot decided it didn’t appreciate my weight on it and promptly folded down and I had to ask my sister and niece to assist in righting the thing back in place. 

That done, after using the available rest room I went to bed. I’m sure the noise wasn’t as noticeable as the night before and I fell right to sleep. At least for an hour or so a family, playing rap music came in and began talking boisterously, arguing, and making asses of themselves for a good hour. I so wanted to storm out there and demand they shut their pie holes. But I just let them be idiots instead. Eventually the music stopped, and the cursing, bickering and loud chatting diminished and then I fell back to sleep. 

Then a strong gust of wind blew inside my tent, and I had to curse myself for thinking camping out at my age was a good thing. The winds continued throughout the rest of the night, and I got no sleep after that. The train’s horn resounded like the morning before. 

I finally gave up, got dressed and went to rest room where I did my business and took a shower. I ate the last of my cereal but with only a smidgen of milk left in that pint-sized container. I then began taking everything down and placing it in the car. 

Such a wonderful time. 

Part three next. 

The Campout

My youngest sister and I planned this months ago after I bought my new car. She couldn’t or didn’t have the time for me to go all the way to Bend, Oregon where she lives, so compromised on Charbonneau Park, not too far from the Tri-Cities where we grew up. 

I promised Elsa and Tommy I would return by Sunday. Tommy appeared confused and mewed incessantly as I packed my car with tent, sleeping bag, mat, and cot. Then I got into my car and headed south from Cheney to Tri-Cities. 

The drive proved uneventful, which is comforting at my age. I generally don’t care about unexpected things to suddenly pop up for no reason. Tamera and I communicated frequently to where we both were in relation to our destination. We will meet at the Walmart in Pasco on Road 68. 

Now, back in the day when we were growing up there, that portion of Pasco was populated by farms and desert; no more. A mini mall of businesses, a baseball field for the single A Tri-City Dust Devils, restaurants and big box stores overtook that piece of God’s land from the gophers, coyotes, and sagebrush. 

Naturally, it was a Friday afternoon, it was no surprise that Walmart was filled with shoppers. I was lucky enough to find a handicap parking space for me to park and wait for her and her daughter/my niece, Sonya, to get whatever they needed and come outside where they would go to the county park and camp for two and a half days. 

I didn’t even think of texting her to get me some milk for breakfast, but that is another anecdote for later. Instead I sat and waited while various people came and went. Walmart if nothing else, is the melting pot and example of democracy at work as everybody of every ethnic persuasion come here to shop and get along as Americans should. 

Eventually she and Sonya come out and walk to the car; can’t miss seeing a purple Charger in any parking lot. I was going to get out and do the customary hugs, but she stopped me. 

“Let’s go put this in my car and go to the restaurant you found.” While I waited, she asked me to find a good Mexican restaurant. As luck would have it, there was one just around the block from Walmart. It had a high Google rating at least. So we headed there. 

Then I got out and we hugged each other. It had been going on a year since we met up in Moses Lake for a competition with Sonya and her high school rodeo team. Naturally, I get emotional whenever we meet because we don’t see each other that often.  

We then went inside and got a booth, and the hostess gave us pleasant smiles, and we ordered non-alcoholic drinks: Sprites for them and water for me. I hoped she didn’t get that order mixed up and didn’t to my relief. I swore off carbonated beverages years ago because the consequences of diabetes and tooth decay has become an issue with me. 

I ordered a Fajita while Sonya ordered a burrito and Tamera ordered a taco that also included rice and refried beans. Half an hour later Tamera received the bill from the server and decided that I should pay the bill since it was my idea. I laughed but agreed to pay it.  

I knew it was my idea to show off my car to her and her daughter, but at the same time it wasn’t necessarily my idea to go to this restaurant and have a sit-down meal. I let it go because we are family and she has done me favors in the past that I definitely appreciated especially on those occasions where my soon to be ex-wife was an issue. 

Afterwards we headed to the campsite she reserved. I don’t know how much that was and so I also didn’t quibble over buying dinner for that matter either. It’s all fair with family, I surmised. 

We ended up on top of a bluff that even the gatekeeper admitted was for RVs not tent camping. Needless to say, we had a hard time finding good spots that were relatively flat to pitch out tents on. My tent was near my car on a slight incline, not bad, and theirs was fifty feet further down near a beech tree next to each other, though their cant was a bit more than mine.  

Tamera had an air mattress, Sonya her sleeping pad and bag, and I had a cot, sleeping bag and I opted not to inflate mattress, leaving it in the trunk of the car. After we set up our tents we then just talked about the kinds of stuff family members generally discuss on such occasions.  

Mostly we were just catching up on the latest with our own family news, yarns of past experiences on similar camping trips with our parents, and general views about ourselves, faults, and fears that only tight and intimate family members share. 

We then decided to go fishing down the inlet by the river off a dock. Back in my younger days I had no problem walking to the nearby dock from the parking lot where boats were launched from this inlet. But then again I didn’t have this foot-drop issue that my foot came down turning my ankle in a most hideous fashion that I’m sure caused both to twinge in anxiety that I might twist or break my ankle. 

The way there, half buried rock cropped up exposing angles that if I had  not had a stroke over twenty years ago I could have simply walked over without effort. But here I was maneuvering over these very rocks praying that I didn’t misstep or turn my ankle to where an ambulance would be dispatched out to take me to the ER in Pasco some twenty miles away.  

Once we got down the dock then it was just as much fun balancing myself whenever a small ripple of a wave brushed the side of the pontoons supporting the dock. So here I was trying to cast it out with my right arm, placing the bale back in place with my left hand and switching hands to hold the rod in my left while reeling in the four-pound test with lure, weights, and bobber with my right. 

Sonya caught the first fish. It was a small fry trout or bass. I didn’t get a particularly good look at it considering I was busy trying to maintain my balance, cast out my line and switching hands to reel in the line. 

Tamera came back from the other side of the dock with her rod and line but lacking gear. Apparently her setup got snagged by a rock or that nasty milfoil that’s all over the river’s shore no matter where we go. 

“Are you ready to go back?” Tamera asked. I had just set my stuff down and wanted to take a break since my back was starting to spasm a bit. 

“Sure I suppose we should,” I replied as I began walking back up toward the ramp and heading along the rocky jetty back to my car and the parking lot. 

“Where’s your brace?” Tamera asked. 

“I got rid of it years ago because I didn’t think I needed to wear one anymore. Each new one I have to get costs over a thousand dollars, you know.” 

“I’d say you need one now by the looks of things,” she opined honestly. 

I ignored her, concentrating on keeping from breaking my ankle as my foot continued to drop sideways along the rocky path back to the parking lot. 

We came back to the campsite just as the sun set in the west and we ate the food from the container the restaurant provided. Afterwards, I went to my tent and laid on my cot with the expectation I would fall right to sleep. I think it was around one or two in the morning when the noise stopped, and the horny crickets stopped, and the biting flies and mosquitos stopped so I finally fell asleep. Two hours later, I had to get up and go outside to go potty. 

There is a public restroom up from where we had our set up. There was no way I had any intention of walking up there with only my t-shirt on and nothing else. Instead I just stood outside the tent and let nature do its business. I felt sorry for my sister and niece since they obviously couldn’t get away with doing something like that, though at that time they probably could. 

I had a heck of a time getting myself rearranged and comfortable enough to fall back to sleep. Then the train rolled by, blaring its horn loud enough to wake the dead. I saw the twilight of early dawn and said to myself, screw it. I got dressed and went out to my car, engaged the ignition, and thought, I should go and pick up some milk for my cereal. 

I also decided that we should buy some nightcrawlers so that we could have a better chance at catching a smallmouth bass than what we had. I looked at my fuel gauge and thought it would be a good idea to get gas for Violet as well. That’s her name by the way. 

So I fastened my seat belt did a navigator search off Google maps and drove to the nearest convenience store in Burbank, a small village just outside Pasco along the Snake River. I headed there with the sun rising to my left. 

Some time ago, I don’t know who or when, but this engineer came up with this brilliant idea to put round abouts rather than traffic signals and stop signs at intersections. I’m still getting used to the concept and I drove on the right-side lane not even realizing in my half-awake condition that the consequence was getting off the road I was on and heading onto the freeway and away from my intended destination. 

Naturally, I cursed myself and stupidity as I headed over the Snake River bridge to the Sacajawea State Park entrance and coming back and onto that same road again but at another angle. The navigator probably thought it funny that I got disoriented so soon. 

Apparently none of my credit cards work on any fuel pump here and I had to resort to using my debit card instead, thus spending more of my available funds from my checking account than I had bargained for. There was also a limited supply of milk. Either a full gallon or pint sized were my two options. Well I don’t even buy gallons of milk at home. It would go bad before I finished it. So I opted instead for the pint size container of milk that is probably as expensive as the half gallon sizes I normally buy at home. Now I was mad at myself again for not asking my sister to get me a quart-sized container at Walmart the day before. 

When I returned, her Ford Edge was gone. It’s black with leather seats and as many if not more bells and whistles as my car. I wondered where she could have gone when she came back a minute or so later. 

“I was going to go with you, but you just took off,” she informed me with a bemused expression on her fifty-eight-year-old as of today face. 

“Oh, sorry,” I replied. “I was getting everything else organized and didn’t think you were out of bed yet.” 

“I couldn’t sleep last night.”  

“Me neither,” I concurred. 

She brought worms and coffee from her car. 

“Damn, that’s what I forgot to get, coffee.” Though neither of us thought of it, we both could’ve brought our own since there was an available electrical outlet to plug a coffee maker into. I even went online to see if Keurig made coffee makers with twelve-volt cords for cars. They don’t.” 

“I know and I have a Keurig at home but didn’t bring it.” 

“So much for planning for these contingencies,” I stated with irony. I went to get my cereal from the trunk where the ice chest with my food that I planned to eat for the next two days was stored. I opened a package of cereal and poured the pint of milk on the raisin bran and borrowed a plastic spoon and began chowing down my breakfast. 

“When Sonya gets up and is ready we’ll go somewhere else to fish.” 

“That’s fine. When I did my initial shopping trip on Monday, I bought these sandal things.” I showed her what I was wearing; camouflage crocs that were plastic and presumably waterproof. “I asked about aqua socks, but apparently they aren’t made anymore.” 

Tamera nodded. “They look comfortable and wide enough that you shouldn’t turn your ankle about.” 

“I guess we wait then for Sonya.” 

Continue Part Two next week. 

All These Icons Are Gone

Last week we lost some pretty familiar if not famous people who entertained us these last fifty or forty years. Ozzy Osbourne of Black Sabbath fame was my first exposure to this thing called heavy metal. The first time I heard “Iron Man,” I felt it best described me as other people saw me: a misfit that was misunderstood. 

In 1980 I had the opportunity to go see the famous “Black & Blue” concert that featured Black Sabbath and Blue Oyster Cult at the Pendleton Armory, but they were already sold out. 

Then there’s Ryno. Ryne Sandburg who was born in Spokane grew up here and played baseball and even a football scholarship at Washington State but chose professional baseball instead. He also passed dying from an advanced and aggressive form of prostate cancer. 

I became a Cubbies fan though my first love were and still are the Mariners, because of Ryne and his marvelous career as a hall of fame second baseman. There’s even a statue of him in his honor in front of Wrigley Field. 

I’m the first to admit I’m not a professional wrestling fan. So Hoak Hogan’s sudden passing wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the previous two. Like Ozzy, he was controversial. His opinions were not in my line of thought or philosophy. He admitted proudly that he used to take steroids to bulk him up and make him appear more intimidating. He boasted about his conservative politics. He even attended last years Republican Convention to make the case for Donald Trump. 

This week was definitely one to remember, and their lives left a mark on each of us in some way. Personally, I think I’ll miss Ryne Sandburg the most because of how he played the game and how he mentored others into being great at what they wanted to achieve.