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. 

A Difference in Time and Place

Twenty-five years ago I would’ve considered what happened last Friday just a case of bad timing. A runner or jogger was struck by a car, and the driver was allegedly intoxicated at the time of this accident. 

Twenty-five years ago I was also an alcoholic who thought it had to have been the other person’s fault. That she ran out into the street causing this poor driver to lose control, swerve into a tree and hit the runner to avoid hitting her directly. And, that he had to flee the scene to get his thoughts gathered. 

Now that I’m over twenty years sober, I’m seeing everything differently now. Now I’m seeing this as much a case of making horrible choices and poor judgements. This seventeen-year-old boy, who either stole the alcohol or had an older person buy it for him, knew full well the consequences that would result. 

The accident itself was early Friday morning at 5:30. The victim was a well-known person in the Spokane community with ties to numerous local clubs and agencies, including CFO for CHAS health a local co-op that serves the needy, homeless and ALICE residents in Spokane. 

I’ll let my own readers draw their own conclusions on whether this was more than a mere hit and run involving an underaged drinker and a woman jogging in a quiet residential neighborhood.  

Tommy’s First Month: A New Beginning in His Forever Home

The Joys, Surprises, and Small Victories of Welcoming Tommy 

There’s a special kind of anticipation that fills a house in the days leading up to welcoming a new family member. For us, that excitement was palpable as we prepared for Tommy’s arrival with deep, curious eyes and a tail that seemed to wag with hope itself. After months of waiting, paperwork, and countless dreams of what life would soon become, Tommy finally came home. Now, reflecting on his first month, I’m overwhelmed by the transformation we’ve witnessed, both in Tommy and in ourselves. 

Day 1: The First Welcome

 As I mentioned  through the point of view of my parrot, Elsa, Tommy was a bountiful ball of energy and curiosity. He had to check everything out. One month later, he’s still checking everything out.  

Upon reading online about cats in this age range—six, now seven months old—we’re talking about an animal in its adolescent stage of development. He is quite playful, and desires much attention from me and Elsa, who I believe would rather I’d gotten a bird for her to befriend than another cat. 

Week 2

Three weeks ago we visited the vet to get him a variety of medicines, topical ointments for ticks and fleas, and vaccine shots. I went again this past week, and he got another booster and was told he needed one more to compensate for the one given him three weeks ago. The vet assured me it would be his last one for two years. I’m sure Tommy liked that more than me, though it cost me in the pocketbook. 

Taste of the Outdoors

 The day following his shots he got his first taste of the outdoors. As for anything new, there was that moment of reluctance on his part whether he really wanted to go outside. He found some tall grass  leaves that he decided to nibble on and then just stepped out and down the steps from my trailer. He cautiously went about sniffing everything around him. He didn’t venture far though and went back inside after maybe five minutes.  

Throughout the day though, he went out again two more times, staying out just a little longer each time until I let him in for the evening. He was plenty tired and slept pretty much throughout the night. He got up occasionally to graze on his kibbles or drink water out of his dish or use the litter box. 

Yesterday I let him out before  leaving for work and he stayed pretty much underneath the trailer until I got home after four. He was definitely happy to see me, and so was Cato, my stepdaughter’s cat. He too is a tom and was remarkably close to Cosmo. He missed him dearly, which was why I got Tommy in the first place. 

At any rate, I slowly introduced the two and now are good pals who play all the time. He also likes to eat Tommy’s food. I don’t mind but I think my stepdaughter does since her concern is the different  diet Cato has in his home opposed to the kibbles I feed Tommy. 

Today, I did the same thing, letting Tommy outside when I left for work. Cato was looking over a mound that I assumed was a recently dug burrow belonging to some rather large rodent such as a gopher or Marmet. Tommy immediately beelined to where Cato was, and I went off to work. This evening when I got home they were both sitting on the steps leading inside the trailer waiting patiently to be let in. 

Idiosyncrasies

Tommy’s personality is incredibly unique. He talks all the time and expects me to answer his questions. I see what happens to what he wants or thinks he needs. For the most part he seems to want to ask me about my day. Then there are those times when he wants something: playfulness, pets and rubs, or food that I’m making for myself.  

He thinks that my sleep patterns should be like his. I generally am in bed by nine, but he has gotten his second wind by now and wants to play. Then after ten or fifteen minutes he’ll settle down.  

After my early morning potty routine, Tommy thinks it’s play time again, in which case he’ll attack my hands or feet, not meaning to bite down hard but on occasion he does, and I promptly punish him for that. 

Then at 4:30 he thinks I’ve slept long enough and it’s time for that ball of boundless energy to go running about my bed and meowing at me to get up and go to work. I’ve never experienced a cat like Tommy. Cosmo was quite laid back in comparison. 

Maybe A Solution

I go through Spokane on occasion because I still have appointments to keep. 

The other day I drove by apartments that were vacated because they were drug dens, and many people were fed up with these residences. 

The consequence? More homelessness than ever. The issues about the war on drugs now has turned into  a housing crisis. I’d like to offer a solution though I am sure I will get many people opposed to this. 

This issue is in trying to rid our city of the bad apples we ended up punishing those who were mostly innocent who were unfortunately enough to be living at the wrong place. I knew this was going to happen. It happened in other cities too, such as Seattle and Portland, Oregon. 

It is no fault of those tenants who were evicted because their neighbors chose to be addicts. Rather than punish everyone, the authorities should have just kicked those bad elements out and not have to punish the innocents. 

Anyway, the solution is to reopen those closed up apartments, as well as those unused office space on multi-level businesses in the main city center and have available rooms and apartments for these homeless people. 

Now, there would have to be policies in placed such as being employed, clean and sober, and no active crime records on their applications. 

Building new apartments just aren’t cutting it when it’s apparent they will be outpriced for the homeless and even those who live in housing now because of what these developers expect to charge these future tenants. 

I pay over two thousand dollars a month for my mortgage. I can just imagine what these property management companies are expecting from future tenants who most likely will have to take home at least high five-figure income to afford to live in these places. 

In my proposal the housing would have to be subsidized through FHA, VA, and SNAP. Of course now that the present administration is in control, it’s unlikely any of this is going to happen anytime soon. 

Granted this country has always had the issues of homelessness and poverty. We always had people who were drug dependent, flaunted the law or were unrepentant criminals with no redeeming values that lives among us.  

It makes no sense for any property management company, let alone a city to punish all just to make some point that they are helping to fight the war on drugs. It’s a lose lose proposition. 

Unfortunate News

I think this all started, I think by a man who shot a horse. Then it has seemingly spiraled out of control from there. 

Sunday was probably the worst, though there have been other incidents too. The incident of a father killing his three young daughters, comes to mind. Then two weeks ago on Fathers’ Day. There a motorcyclist was ran into by a man who also tried car jacking another car and shot an Idaho man who had a permit to carry a firearm. 

Now this incident has no rhyme or reason. Three firefighters, who responded to an intentionally started brush fire were shot, two of them died on scene, and third fighting for his life. 

It’s not uncommon in this area to see something like this in a year’s time. What has blown my mind, probably most everyone else too, was that all four-incidents occurred within weeks of each other.  

My objection was how inhumane people seemingly have gotten lately: killing three young girls, shooting a horse, going on a road rage rampage, and ambushing first responders. It seems if there is a motive involved is that these men all have some mental defect that may or may not present itself once the truth is revealed.  

The horse shooting incident has me especially worried because most future serial killers begin their journey killing family pets and goes on from there. So the future of our area may well be predicted in the next ten or fifteen years from now. 

Yes, I wish that we lived in an idyllic world of peace, harmony, and love, but unfortunately that’s an ideal that may well be outside the realm of reality. God bless the victims.

More About Assumptions

The other day I got a handful of mail from my son-in-law Nicolas. Two that caught my eye were from a couple of groups I wasn’t aware of even existed. So, I read them and promptly threw both into the trash.  

Apparently after I gift a bequest on behalf of Uncle Hal who passed away last January to the VFW, I was thrown into this mailing list. I guess their thinking being that I too was a Conservative of like mind as my uncle was. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Both were pro Trump pitches that asked my opinion and to sign some petition on another praising his agenda to ban DEI and mass deport all brown-skinned illegal aliens taking away white American jobs. 

If they knew the real Jerry Schellhammer, they wouldn’t have bothered wasting postage and copy paper for me. The result would have been the same; round file. I was both insulted and offended by the language that was blatantly racist in its intent. 

I considered writing them a friendly, or not so friendly letter back detailing my wokeness, my liberal bias, my belief in treating everyone fairly as I would like to be treated. These direct marketing PACs or whatever they claimed to be should have done some research on me first, bought and read A Man’s Passion, This Life: My Life After My Stroke, and my other books and short stories and blogs, and realized I’m not what they assumed I was.