ron and roz

Ron was right out of seminary when he became the youth pastor in our church. I was the leader and we became very close friends as we worked together. Too soon he was reassigned and we did tried to keep in touch, but weren't too good at it.
A few years ago, while Ron was in his mid 50's he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.
He and Miriam are about the same stage right now. Roz and I keep in touch by phone. We will be in their town soon and will look them up and spend some good time with them.
Ron does not deserve this disease either.
I wrote about them about a year ago.

otto

The company was a partnership. Both of the owners were in their mid to late 30’s I think, looking back.

Miles was the business head. He was good with people, he could get along with any one. This was before floor stores did carpet. Carpet had just gone from narrow pieces that had to be sewn together to make a room sized rug to “broadloom” a full 12 feet wide give or take 3 inches! If you wanted carpet you went to a furniture store.

They did linoleum (the real good old stuff). Armstrong’s line of vinyl floors (that came in 6' wide rolls) was new and they did a lot of that. Armstrong also had a line of 9 by 9 floor tile. I'll talk about that material soon.

They did plastic laminate on cabinet tops, and real rubber base. Ceramic tile was being imported from England and the floor stores were putting it in. Before that there was not really a good shower product. These tiles, and the way we installed them was not too good either, but that has changed too!

But that real rubber base shoe was something really good. You could put it down and no one could see the joins. They mitered the outside corners in a classy way.

As I write about these products, I realize how far we have come, and not all to the good.

Otto was the one I worked with mostly. Quiet, introverted, Otto just wanted to work and do good work. Both of the partners were superb craftsmen.

Miles died just a few years ago. He was in his late 80’s I believe. Otto always had a heart issue. His blood pressure was too low. He told me about it as we worked, but I don’t remember anything much that he did about it.

After I moved away, I would stop and visit Otto every time I was in the area. He had a VW convertible that he had converted to a dune buggy, doing a very fine job of it all. I admired the car and wished he had hacked a sedan and not a precious convertible. he laughed at me!

One day he was with his wife at their cabin, and some curtains needed to be installed. Otto had just been to the doctor, the doc had given him medicine (I don’t think there was any surgery) and gave him strict instructions to not put his hands over his head!

Wife was pushing and making a fuss, and finally, Otto said “I am not worthless yet." He stood on a chair put up the curtains and died. It was over that fast.

I still miss him. He was a good guy. As you can imagine I was not impressed with Wife.

Not long after I started working for them, wife came on the job and began really ragging on me. I was not finished with the job and most of what she was ragging abut was to be done later. I boiled inside.

When I next saw Miles, I asked: “Do I work for HER or YOU, cause if it is her, I quit.”

Miles laughed “no you work for me.”

“Good, tell her.” I demanded. He must have. She would chew on Otto until he would grit his teeth and tell her to go away, but she was ok with me after that.

But I must go back to how I got the apprentice position.

Otto was a good man. I owe much to him. He had a life full of pain and sorrow, and he went way way too young.

trinkets

I am always amazed at what is offered for tourists to buy. In alaska, every town had these big jewelry stores (probably owned by the same firm out of Schenectady) that all seemed to offer the same spendy stuff.
These objects make no sense to me at all, but the picture is sort of interesting.
When I go to the dollar store, I find it filled with stuff like this. I ask: Who in the world authorized making this junk in the first place?
If someone gave it to me I'd hide it!

chances and choices

I was 21 and I needed a job..

Miriam and I had been married a couple of years, Arline had been born about a year later. I was a going to college, really floundering in college, changing majors often and not really knowing what I was suited for or how to get there.

But I liked to work.

Twenty and a few years earlier, near the end of the great depression my father had been in the same position. He had gone to the same town (where our church had a small college) and had planned on taking classes.

The college owned a prune orchard and my father was given the job of assembling the wooden boxes the fruit was shipped in. It was piece work, and in a day or so my father was making more money than the president of the college.

When that job was finished he found another. The money he had earned at the college was a line of credit against tuition and I am sure he felt more inclined to work than study.

So mom went to college. She loved it. She got top grades and she had found her place. Then my father decided to move back to Idaho, and SWISH, they were gone and mom’s dreams of a college eduction went with them.

So I looked for a job.

I talked to the best carpenter in town. Yes, he would be needing help soon. I talked to the owners of the best floor covering store in the area. Yes, they had a big floor tile (this was asphalt tile still) job and I had a bit of experience with floor tile, so they might use me.

One morning at 7 the floor guys called and asked me to be ready by 7:30. I left with them and 15 minutes later the carpenter called. I became a floor covering installer, rather than a carpenter because of 15 minutes.

I know people who carefully and methodically pick a career. They take tests and they evaluate, but often we get into a line of work just on just as flimsy a pretext as I did that day way back when.

That choice has never really struck me as being a bad one, but it did change my whole life.

Tomorrow: Otto, one of the partners I worked for.

Miriam, last week, in death valley -- before the wind came up.

"cars"

Yesterday I went to that great social network, the county dump.

I have written about it before, but each time I go I am amazed by it all.

The lady who weighs me in is a decent even jovial gal. Her predecessor could be pretty grim, but this gal has a good smile and a decent sense of humor.

From there on it gets wild.

There are various “stations” depending on what you have. One for steel and appliances, one for computers, one for tires, one for wood and so on. I was sure I was going to the wood pile but the direction guy was not there, so I went on up to the big site.

He stormed over in his Chevy pickup, almost like a character from the movie “Cars”. With a thumb gesture he told me to go back to the wood pile.

Often there are prison inmates assigned to the county landfill (it is not “the dump” I spite of what I may call it), to help unload. Yesterday three of them came over before I had the chains off my load of brush. (Later I the day a friend went to the same site with a similar load. The inmates were working to unload the trailer, and another of the “directors” stormed over to tell him that the inmates were not to do “all of the work.” Since the sides racks on the trailer were tall, there was no room for my friend to “help”’ and he told the “director.” He was frounded at, which is pretty serious.)

They unloaded down to where I had piled on some corn stalks, then they would go no further until the “lady director” came over to inspect. She told me to go up. I obeyed. To do otherwise would be serious.

Once on top the “director chevy” came my direction and with another hand gesture told me where to back in to the pile. The wind was blowing and this is really sandy soil, so I was glad he assigned me the first site toward the wind, at least I would not have to eat any one else’s sand.

The guys next to me were unloading something or other, I was busy, and did not notice, but as soon as they were finished Chevy drove over to inspect the leavings. Was there anything that should have required an extra fee?

He darted back to his place of supervision.

I unloaded, swept the trailer out and stacked the side racks and thought.

Until then I did not realize what an interesting situation this was. I kept thinking of “Cars.” I watched the little tin god Chevy zip around in low gear.

Most likely it has to be that way, how would I know, but it sure is an interesting subculture -- the city d… er, the county land fill.

with dale

Sixteen years ago. Wow.
Dale borrowed the car for his photography demonstration.
There was a sign that said: "My car is like my wife. You may look, but do not touch."
The metal i am wearing on the green ribbon was the last award I won in my Photography career. "Associate Fellow of Photography" It was awarded the year after I quit the business.
That was the only time I ever wore it at an official function.

dale

I met Dale about two thirds through our 12 year career as photographers.

His father had been a very capable photographer in Lockport, New York. Dale was the child of the father’s old age, and he died while Dale was still very young.

Besides being an aspirating photographer, Dale was a competent “process photographer”. That maybe an obsolete job and title! The offset printing process included a lot of very technical, not very creative photography and darkroom work. Dale mastered that skill early. It provided him a job.

He moved from NY to our small town to work for the local printing company. The company was very aggressive, did very fine work and was a much larger company than you would expect to find in a small town.

We had met before, and when he arrived we became close friends (we still are almost 40 years later). Dale would come down to my studio, borrow my models, my studio, my cameras and produce absolutely brilliant photographs. I was doing pretty decent work by that time and we were very friendly rivals.

He had been there less than two years when I got a call to interview for a job as a staff photographer for a good sized company in another town. Before I went to the interview I stopped to visit with Dale.

“Dale, whether you like it or not, this interview involves you.” I went on to say that if I took the job I had a studio for sale, and if I did not take the job I would recommend him. I did not take the job (working for a large company like that scared me, and I really did not want to move to a city).

Dale took the job, stayed until the company went bust, went to work for Hyster as a photographer and ended as the staff photographer for Freightliner truck company. He is now retired and still does wonderful photographs, mostly of cars and trucks. At Freightliner he did a calendar of truck photographs each year for many years. Great photography, good looking trucks and done with supreme skill. I still have most of them.

When we moved back to Washington State in the early 90’s Dale invited us to the Professional Photographers of Washington convention (where we had won so many awards 20 years earlier). He was the featured speaker in the commercial photography division.

In his talk, he had Miriam and I stand and he told the crowd how he had used my studio, models and cameras, and that so much of what he knew he had learned from me.

A good teacher has students that do better. My students always did better than I could have, though I did not say so! I was never overly skilled as a artist, but my ability to get students to do better than either of us had expected -- I excelled at that. I wanted to be a college teacher.

We spend a wonderful evening with Dale and his wife about once a year. I am so proud of him. He is still photographing and writing about cars. His work appears regularly in all of the street rod and custom car magazines.

Some one once said that good students make good teachers. True.

This is my neighbor's garden.
It embodies a level of perfection that I can only admire.
Neighbor has had a steady job, and put in regular punctual time in his garden.
I built a grape arbor between his perfection and my mayhem, so I would not be so embarassed

steady

Once a friend was asked about Dave’s gardening skills.

“Well,” said my dear philosopher friend, “Dave likes to think he is.”

And so it goes, I like to think I am good at something I am probably only marginal at best.

Once I had a steady job (not much of that in my life) I went to work at 8 every morning and was off at 4:30 every day. The pay wasn’t good, but the work was in the same subdivision I lived in (I was working for my step dad building houses).

The upside was that every night without failure I would spend an hour or two in my garden, and it was a huge garden, close to a full acre in size. I am not sure I have ever had a better garden than what I had that year.

The secret was obvious.

Lloyd is a good friend. He is a tad bit older than I am, and has been a farmer/dairyman. Last year he told me the secret of a good garden: “Get up early and put in a bit of time in the garden.” Doesn’t seem like much but it sure is right.

A weed 2” high is a pretty easy matter, but when it gets 3’ high, or when the weeds go from 1 per square foot to a zillion, all goes bad.

My mother (who taught me what I know about gardening) said that if you could keep your garden in control until the hot weather (July in our area) and let it go to weeds, at the end of the season it would look awful, but there would be more food in there than you could eat.

Each year I promise to take Mom’s advice a little less to heart and Lloyd’s example a little more.

Don’t worry, if it is awful, you will never hear me talk or write about it!

family

This was a while back.
Mom and step-dad, grandma and grandpa (mom's parents), my sister Joyce, and our four daughters (I have such fond memories of those days).
Brother Ben was away.
This week was Grandpa's birthday. He was born 123 years ago, and lived 98 of those years.

grandpa

Grandpa was an interesting character for sure.

His grandfather had brought the family, including sons and daughter (?) from Iowa in a covered wagon in the mid 1860’s. The big push of the Oregon Trail was over by then. They had horses that pulled the wagon but they went sore footed about Sale Lake, so they wintered there, and traded the horses for Oxen, and continued their journey the next summer.

Lest you have forgotten oxen are cows. And if you have ever followed a cow, you know they don’t move quickly. But they were strong, and fairly easy to come by. And, they made it.

My Great Great grandpa, the one who came from Iowa, was Oscar. His son that I descend from was Lew and Howard was my grandpa. It can get confusing as I tell the story!

Grandpa Lew was a civil engineer/surveyor. I think that engineering, like medicine at that time, as a skill you learned by doing, and not the results of a college some where. Both Grandpa Lew and his brother were elected to the position of county surveyor. We have their election certificates.

Uncle John, the brother, was also an Engineer / Surveyor. When grandpa was a youngster he would go in the summer with his father and crew to the foothills of Mount Rainier, outside Seattle. There were few roads and no people. They used a sun compass / level, so if the sun did not shine they could not work. That meant a lot of down time in the rainy weather.

At 9 grandpa was the head chain-man, of a crew of two or three (a chain was a linked steel device of a certain length that they used to calculate the distance). Their job was to survey a piece of property, mark 3 corners and when they returned to the first marker, their calculations had to be within a few feet of where they started, or they had to start over again. That was no small matter if it was a big hunk of land, and being quite mountainous the job was worse.

Grandpa was an only child. His mother seems to have been a very powerful woman who took no guff. She died before I was born. She wanted to have a girl, grandpa used to say, and when she got a boy she refused to have his hair cut and dressed him in dresses for a long while!

Apparently that was not unusual. In telling about it, Grandpa did not seem embarrassed, nor intimidated at all.

One day when Grandpa Howard was about 6, Grandma was gone from the house for a while and Grandpa Lew cut little Howard’s hair. The story is that grandma cried for a month! She doted over little Howard. When he moved out of state to go to another college, it wasn’t long before mom followed him. When he settled in Idaho, it wasn’t long again.

Apparently Grandpa Lew did pretty well. Grandpa tells of a girl who broke up with him in college because she had thought he was “rich,” and he was not as rich as she would have preferred.

But when Howard graduated from the local college in 1909, with a music major, he was given a baby grand piano as a gift. That had to have cost a fortune! Grandpa worked as a teacher and a book salesman and never had any money and that piano was a pain. It took up too much space, was too hard to move. Finally they had a house fire, but the piano was being “stored” at some one else’s house.

Later when grandma was sick, recovering from surgery, grandpa brought a contract to her and convinced her to sign. They had traded the baby grand for a big player piano. Grandma never totally forgave Howard for that one!

In our church, we had an old upright piano and a reed organ, which works like an accordion, and sounds much the same as well. The organist had to play with both hands and keep his/her feet moving on the two pedals that pumped air to make the sound. But this was an old organ and only one pedal worked. So the organist had to work extra hard at pumping that one good pedal.

At some time, so the story went, Grandpa had had a bout with Bells Palsy. There were no lasting affects, except that when he sang, and he had a good bass voice, his mouth would scrunch to one side, almost like he was singing for the person behind him.

Of course, Grandpa was the organist.

So you have the picture here? White haired Grandpa, sitting on the organ bench with one foot madly pumping to keep the sound up, punching the keys with both hands as he joyfully sang with his mouth to the side of his face. And, oh yes, he had his head cocked way back, as those of us who wear bi or trifocal glasses do.

He was a good man, we loved him.

sunrise breakfast

It was below freezing and we did not spend a lot of time eating!
Breakfast today in Idaho will be our first hot meal since Tuesday.
The guy is my best friend David. It is his Jeep.

spring camping

Spring camping is always a bit dicey. This trip was no exception.

Spring weather can change quickly. We were equipped for what we expected. What we did not expect was continuous winds.

We left Idaho Wednesday, camped a mile or so off the highway in the Nevada desert, but at 6000 feet elevation. We were in the tear and were comfortable, David slept on his cot next to his jeep. It was a bit windy and cold and he was not comfortable.

Thursday night we were in Death Valley (more on that later). We set up camp, sat in the hot water a while and came back to make dinner. But the wind had picked up and it was quite impossible to even light a stove with the wind blowing.

So we ate another cold meal.


Thursday night the wind blew harder and harder. Inside the tear we were jostled around a bit, but outside David’s tent was flattened. He had to push it out to make it stand up again.


Daylight the wind got worse. We looked around the edges of the valley and could see evidence of wind. Before we left civilization, we caught the weather forecast: over 100 mile winds on the ridges out of town. The wind was to last a week.

So, while the wind was blowing at 25 to 40 mph, we broke camp and left the valley after just one night.

We did not go to the “regular” Death Valley, but to the Saline Valley to the side of the park. There is a lot of desert, usually a lot of quiet, hot water pools and 60 miles of horrible gravel and washboard roads both in and out. A few hard side campers (mostly pickup campers and small motor-homes) come into the valley, but mostly it is people in pickups and jeeps sleeping in tents.

When we left most of the camp left with us.

We drove down to the touristy part of the park. If we could have gotten a space in the RV park there (they were full mostly, of motor-homes that were worth more than my house) it would cost $30 a night (the camp at the end of the rough road was free).

So we drove out of the park. We thought of going to a park in Utah, but were told that the winds were there as well (it was a huge weather front we were involved with). We drove north to Tonopah, Nevada got a motel for $40, each took a shower to remove a LOT of sand, and slept well.

Saturday, rather than enjoying the sun and the hot water, we drove home.

But that is how spring camping can go.

Miriam is one fine camping companion. Through all of this she never complained about anything. She ate cold food with us, she slept in the tear (which is full of sand now) on sandy sheets. She is a super lady.

In Idaho we have three good days this week, enough to get some spring work done, then cold and rain returns.

But summer is on the way, promise, and we will go camping again.