Of course I took a picture. It wouldn't have been right not to.Sue Hlavac, Katie Pohanka, Annie Hrubik, Mary Miklovic
...the surviving Cipkar sisters...
...aging gracefully...
Look Out for Morty!
13 years ago
... just about anything that comes off the top of my head, which, as you can see, does not provide much in the way of substance ...
Having put away the turkey, we trekked north to the Land of Fabled Health Care. We saw Aunt Sue, who didn't quite remember who I was at first (being 91 may have some disadvantages), and then Aunt Mary, who seemed resigned to her fate as prisoner in a nursing home. She looked well and appeared to be adequately taken care of. Uncle George was our host for Friday and Saturday nights; and Cuzzin Willie threw a spectacular bash (he is becoming famous for that!) Saturday night, complete with his traditional roast pig.
The weekend did have its somber spots. Saturday afternoon was the funeral for Helen Varga, and in the evening, we met Sybil and Serena Kamasz after the testimonies at church. Sybil stunned us with the news (news to us, at least) that Gus had passed away 10 months ago to the day.
Gus Kamasz I counted as one of those people who was a "straight arrow". He immigrated to Canada from Communist Hungary as a young man, and while his English always had something of an accent, he was meticulous about his word usage and pronunciation. Like my father-in-law, he was scornful of those who were born in this country (or Canada) and were ignorant of proper English grammar. However, he had an extremely compassionate side reserved for those who were victims of misfortune and were in need of instruction and assistance. Gus and I got along famously. We could have significant disagreements and still talk and work together as brothers. We saw each other only a few times after he moved his family to Kitchener, and we moved back to Ohio, but I will miss him nonetheless. Sybil said he went out to get the snowblower from the garage, started it and put it in the driveway, came into the house to sit down for a moment, and asked her to keep an eye on it. She began to walk toward the door, heard a coughing sound from him, turned around, and he was gone. January 28, 2009.
Finally, this weekend gave me a chance to meet some more family. The Hrubik Boys from Glozan, at the turn of the last century (1900), were Paul, Mike, and John. Mike and John each had sons they named Carl (Karol). Dad corresponded with his cousin, Karol; Karol had a son (also Karol) and a daughter, Rose. I had met Rose's daughter, Caroline, many years ago, but this morning I met Rose. I also met Karol's grandson (Rose's nephew) Vladimir Hrubik, who had emailed me back in September asking me to read his new book, "When They Say Peace, Seek Shelter". So here's a plug for his book, which I have not yet read (although Willie says he has read the first chapter and part of the second but just has not had time to finish it). It's available at Amazon, Google, Barns & Noble, Author House and others.
At lunch, we sat with John and Susie Stajfer (Susie is Mom's cousin, daughter of Steve Cipkar Sr.). John's mother was a Miklovic (ah -- is Jaroslav lurking?) and I told them about the blog comments and emails I had had from both "Miklovic" and "K_C34". John said he didn't know too much about the Miklovic side of the family; he claimed he had tried to talk to his uncles at a family picnic in Cleveland years ago but the old folks suspected the younger ones of being Bolsheviks and wouldn't have too much to do with them. However, shortly after lunch, someone tapped me on the back and, when I turned around, asked if I knew who she was. She announced that she was Kathy Cipkar -- John and Susie were standing there with her, with big smiles on their faces. Kathy is K_C34's mother. We had an interesting chat.
'Nuff gossip. Time to catch some z's. Work to do tomorrow.
The commercialization of Christmas has always been troubling to me. It has been my experience that picking out gifts for people is difficult, maybe because of my practical side, but I'm always thinking about what someone might need or even use as opposed to just buying something and shoving it at them because it is expected at this time of year. Maybe that statement came out a bit raw, but the following article by George Will sort of hit my hot button :Scroogenomics
However, my greater concern this season (as in the past several since the economic contraction began) is not so much the spending of money on senseless items, but the fact that people invariably borrow to do so. Coupled with recent notices by credit card companies to their customers that rates are going to be rising sharply (Capital One, for example, will be applying a 39.9% rate to some of its customers, and most card companies have put people -- even their best customers -- on notice that they can expect charges ranging from 19.9% - 29.9% on ordinary balances), the December bash will unhappily become a February surprise for many of these people. The great deals that people are rushing to embrace, paying with plastic today (Black Friday), will turn out to be ulcer-makers down the road.
The ultimate effect on consumer ability to spend will kick in some time in the Spring of 2010, as people struggle to pay for Christmas 2009. Consumer confidence and ability to spend are key to economic recovery, and I see a rocky road ahead.
Don't spend too much time thinking "inside the box".
You will have plenty of time for that later.
I left a few pepper plants inside the greenhouse when I transplanted everything else outside. They are still growing and blooming while their siblings have died and gone to compost heaven. One of the jalapeno pepper plants produced some VERY large fruit :
These were meaty, which I find to be a typical jalapeno trait, and not at all hot except in the immediate vicinity of the seeds. Maybe next summer I can work on this strain some more.
When I built the Cloudyhouse, I covered it with clear polyethylene film, intending to replace it annually due to it not being UV resistant. The covering was put on at the end of March;
unfortunately, by the beginning of July it looked like this :
So, I sprang for a dozen sheets of corrugated polycarbonate that is supposed to be UV resistant. In the process, new framing members had to be installed. It now looks like this :
No longer a cloudyhouse is it. It still needs some weatherstripping added, and then some clear silicone caulk. There are still some peppers inside that are ripening (slowly), and I need to plant one last batch of lettuce to see if I can have some greens until Christmas. As cold as it has been, though, I have my doubts. Maybe I can start onions and cabbages in February -- we'll see!
I've heard tell that Biblical Hebrew has no vowels. I learned today that the President of the World won a prize for talking about Hope and Change. The N_B_L Prize. I looked it up in the Bible. I Samuel 25:25. 'Nuff said.
Today's twisty thinking looped around the commonality of fraud in our society. Strangely enough, the sequence of neuronal activity began with a statement by a spokesman for someone whom I respect quite a bit for his clear insight into spiritual matters. The statement that "For a gift of any amount we will send you ..." triggered musing about fraudulent activity by those who purport that honesty is the only policy they will subscribe to.
I realize that the writing of books is a serious and time consuming process, and I fully respect the concept of wanting to be paid for one's labors. I also respect and defend the idea that a person may sell his property for any amount which the market might bear, or even give it away, as he so chooses. While I have not sent that particular person any "gifts", I have sent donations to other such entities (without any expectation of a "gift" in return), and have received a receipt from the donee for tax deduction purposes.
IRS regulations require that when claiming a deduction for a charitable or other non-profit or political contribution, if any item of value has been received in return, the Fair Market Value of that item must be disclosed on the receipt, and only the amount of the donation greater than the value of the item given to the donor can be claimed as a deductible contribution. Well and good.
That Fair Market Value can often be easily established because the item returned to the donor as a gift is an item regularly sold by the donee. In any event, by IRS standards, a "gift" that is received in return for a solicited "contribution" of money is an exchange. Any amount above the Market Price of the item is then recognized by the IRS as a contribution. However, if the exchange takes place on acceptance of a "gift of any amount", the possibility exists that the donor will receive a "gift" worth more than what he "gave" for it. Such an exchange leaves the donor with what is clearly a taxable gain by IRS standards.
In fact, when the solicitation leads a donor to believe that he is getting a "gift" in return for his donation, should the donee actually give the item at no cost to someone who has made no contribution, and then turn around and report on the IRS-required receipt that the value of the "gift" is $X.xx to the donor responding to the solicitation, the donee has clearly lied to the publican. By IRS standards, if the item can be obtained for free, its Market Value is $0.00, but if the Market Value is truly $X.xx and he has given it away, then the only equitable course of action is to inform the person getting the item that he has just been given a "gift" the value of which must be reported on his income tax form as taxable income.
Just as evil is the situation for the person who gave a "gift of any amount". If the item to be given in return is actually worth $0.00 because it can be had for free by somebody who has no money to give, then any Market Value stated on the receipt defrauds the donor of a possible tax deduction amount.
Similarly, when a church holds a fund-raising dinner and there is a "suggested donation" amount indicated for the meal, only the amount donated that is above the "suggested donation" is legally tax deductible for the donor, and technically, if such a meal is given free to someone who cannot afford the "suggested donation", the "suggested donation" amount is taxable income to the poor person.
Aha, says you, Grandpa Jim is a LEGALIST without care for the unfortunate. Such accusers may well deserve the N_B_L Prize. To lawyer one's way around the IRS regulations is legalism at its finest.
My position is simply this : a "gift" should be given with no expectation of anything in return.
The bottom line is that when you sign that income tax return, you state that everything you wrote down in it is true. In order to fill it out properly, you have to follow the directions that came with it, and accept the definitions that the government uses for the questions and statements on the form. Anyone who signs the form using their own definitions and not altering the form to insert those definitions, is a liar.
Of course, some brave soul might cross off the affidavit just above his signature on the tax return. That produces other kinds of problems. Honesty may be expensive and inconvenient, but when the people of any nation set aside their individual integrity, that nation is ripe for judgment.
'Tis Fall of '09. The summer is gone. So is most of the garden. I have been eating the Golden Delicious apples for the past week or so (somebody has to know when they are ripe, and I elected myself Chief Ripeness Tester) and tonight I decided to pick the tree clean. The yellowjackets are running out of other things to eat and they were starting to make some serious holes in the apples. Ergo, I picked.The front basket has apples that the yellowjackets had attacked. This is the second crop that this dwarf tree has produced. The year before last it had a dozen or so apples, and last year had nary a bloom, but this year it bloomed heavily. I was unable to spray after mid-July due to rains at the wrong time and my long commute eating up over 3 hours of each day, but the apples are relatively bug free.
And they are indeed delicious.
Just a quickie before I have to settle down to some serious work.
About two weeks ago, I was verifiying the tax card on a house in Middlefield. As I pulled in the driveway, I could hear a rooster crowing on the adjacent property. Exiting the car, I was taking some notes (vacant house, looked like it was in less than average condition, etc) when I noticed a Barred Rock rooster sneak out of the bushes and begin to circle me. Head held low, it crept around to examine what it had found. Then, like a Jurrasic Park velociraptor, it charged.
As it neared my legs, I flipped down my clipboard and knocked it to the side. This was repeated about a half dozen times.
Finally, I decided that I had to get on with my work, took out the measuring wheel, and ran it on the ground in the direction of the rooster. He fled into the bushes and did not return. People he understood -- my guess is that he had lots of experience with them running in terror at his attacks. The wheel, however, was an unknown, may have represented a predator like a big cat, as it crept along the ground, and was something to avoid.
Two morals to this story. One : bullies only pick on people they are certain to intimidate. Two : roosters are far more effective for area defense than the average dog.
I would hate to face a rooster the size of the average dog.
T'other day I received an email from Joe Harrison stating that the date of the CG Reunion had been changed to August 15, and querying if I could make that date. While I had plans already for later in the day, I quickly made sure I could spend a few hours with the old guys.
Maybe I should start near the beginning. There are times when it makes sense to go through a wallet and remove stuff that really no longer needs to be there. Such an item is my draft card. It has been over 26 years since I was legally required to carry it, so it is time it went into the drawer with a lot of other old stuff.
One of the things that people who haven't seen me since high school notice is that I am no longer 5 feet 8 inches tall and 120 pounds. In fact, if they remember me at all, it is as the kid who was only 5 feet 2 and wrestled at 98 pounds in his junior year. The draft registration card shows that I was still in the growth spurt, and, in fact, when I started my sophomore year at Akron U, the ROTC Department had to reissue my dress greens because I had grown out of the set they had issued the year before.
The 1-H classification was issued after I notified the board that I had gotten married. Viet Nam was winding down, and they were not likely to bother me again.
When I registered, in 1965, I was given a 2-S deferment. ROTC was mandatory for male students at Akron U then, and I simply took what they stuck me in, which was Army ROTC. Just after the Spring 1966 semester began, I was on campus one Saturday and ran into a bunch of guys in fatigues, doing PT in the snow and drill with real M-1s. One thing led to another and I ended up in the Counterguerilla Unit. When Spring Break came, instead of going to Florida, I found myself in the woods eating Tom Hastler's cooking.Carefull!! That is a 23 meg + .pdf !!
Of course, some 43 years later, we all look a bit different :
So we sat around swapping condensed versions of our life stories since graduation. Eddie treated us to a demonstration of the fact that he still knew how to field strip and reassemble an M-1. Not quite 8 seconds any more. Not quite. He did avoid "M-1 thumb", though.
Was ROTC useful? I think so. Cadets were taught to say "Yes, Sir" and "No, Sir", and that only a woman would wear a hat inside a building. They were taught to polish their shoes and tie their ties. They were taught the difference between their left foot and their right foot, and how to walk with other people without tangling up their legs. These are all useful skills for college graduates (or even high school graduates -- Eddie teaches ROTC at Garfield High in Akron) and it is amazing how many people complete a college degree without knowledge of such simple civilizing graces. The jungle always encroaches when civilization retreats.
Saturday is a kick-back day sometimes. Today, I had nothing that was screaming "URGENT!" in my mind, so I was slow to get out of the rack. Thus it was that I was jolted from semi-slumber by the phone call at 6:15 AM from Cousin X ( the X is the chromosome identifier, and I won't go any further than that ) to inform me that she and her family were moving, and to give me their new address. It seems their prior landlord would not fix a problem with the apartment, so they had to find a new place. Also, would I please call her sister and let her know they had moved?
Frankly, I'm a bit flattered that I rank so high in her pecking order, even if it left me shaking my head over the timing of the call. Somehow, the incident led me to thinking about groceries ( at this point, I don't think we will take them any, since she didn't request help, and on top of that, I didn't ask since I was still not thinking too clearly due to my somnia ). If you don't like my invention of new words, too bad. Besides, she has my phone number. Anyhoo, the incident fired my neurons and soon I was off on a rabbit trail regarding food, and I eventually recalled an article in the local rag about a state-wide ballot issue the Humane Society is pushing to force farmers to supply bigger cages for their livestock.
The trail began with the phone call, leaped to the blog posts I was planning to do regarding the return on investment from rental properties, hopped over to my data gathering at the Geauga County Fairgrounds, bounced around the concept of value in use, acknowledged that I needed to get information on the local cost of boarding horses, briefly touched on the costs of veterinary treatment ( because I am going to ultimately have to try to develop value opinions for a couple of vet hospitals ), ricocheted off the dangers of parasites in pastureland, flip-flopped to the fact that local produce is probably more dangerous than Mexican imports, and sat down on the cage article. If you attempt to psychoanalyze me, I guarantee to drive you crazy.
In previous posts, I went into some detail regarding parasitic worms that affect people. I am much impressed by the existence of parasitic worms, because in Beauval we had many graphic lessons, from doggy doo to fish for the table, which made us wary of trusting food in its most natural state. There are quite a few people in our land who are strict vegetarians, and many who think the best way to serve food is raw. They are entitled to their opinions, and I have no desire to force them to eat otherwise. I am quite aware, however, that gastric discomfort can result from something as simple as drinking water from a well that one has never used before, and I have experienced diarrhea from sampling veggie trays at parties. In fact, the first couple of salads fresh from my own garden are likely to trigger funny stuff if the produce isn't cleaned well.
Grazing animals are particularly subject to parasitic organisms that spend part of their life cycle in low-lying vegetation. Watercress eaters probably have liver flukes, and I suspect that most vegetarians are skinnier than the population at large, not because of the lack of fat in their diet, but, because of their internal zoo which shares their nutrient supply. Trichina in pork was once a problem in this country, but after pigs began to be kept in smaller pens and couldn't free-range and eat rats and mice that hosted the intermediate stages, the disease practically disappeared. Chickens are also omnivores ( T. rex with feathers ) and if they get a chance, they will eat any rodent that crosses their pen -- we used to catch mice and throw them into the middle of the chicken yard and watch the action.
All the arguments about how good-tasting free-range livestock is tends to ignore the fact that part of the good taste comes from the stuff that buzzards eat. I would be willing to put money on the idea that free-range chickens and pigs (and cows and sheep and goats ) have worms that can be passed on to their eaters. That is not a gamble, because it is almost 100% certain. So we come to cages, and whether or not they are cruel.
Many of the Humane-ists see nothing wrong with keeping their dog or cat in the house. That is cruel, because both are hunting animals that need to roam and kill in order to be mentally well adjusted. Further, dogs are pack animals, and have a social need to be with other dogs. They think humans are poor substitutes for dogs, a fact which is easily shown as soon as they come into proximity with another of their own species -- they immediately sniff anuses. In addition, to neuter them is to deprive the male dog or cat of the joy of procreation and the female dog or cat of the satisfaction of maternity; such neutering is cruel in the extreme. Nevertheless, these same people would argue that keeping a laying hen in a cage so small it could barely turn about in, for the purpose of safety and hygiene, is cruel.
The chicken in a cage has controlled feed -- no wild critters in its provender to give it worms. It is kept clean -- no straw to collect chicken dumpings, since the mess drops through the bottom screens and gets taken away. It is safe -- no chicken hawks threatening from above, no skunks, raccoons, or dogs on the ground, and no peers to harass. I did forget to mention, didn't I, that chickens are known for their cannibalism? They have a pecking order. You put them in a flock, in the chicken yard with all kinds of room to roam, and they will establish the pecking order. Bottom ranking hen gets pecked by everyone else. She gets her feathers pulled out. Woe be to her if she starts to bleed, because at that point the whole flock will attack and eat her. She is much better off in the cage.
As a matter of fact, the optimum cage size is just the size of the chicken. She can sit or stand, and being very stupid, has no need to turn around, since the feed only goes in one end, and the eggs come out the other, and if the chicken turns around, there will be disaster in the cage. Farmers are not only smart, they are practical. Those are two characteristics that are underdeveloped in the Humane-ists.
Prior to Walt Disney and his anthropomorphic mice, attitudes toward animals tended to be realistic. Those who have been brainwashed into thinking that Bambi, the Snow White menagerie, and other cartoon animals represent reality have forgotten the facts of nature. Abuse is defined by society, and the definition will vary from place to place. In essence, it is a religious argument. Animal worship is a subset of human self-worship. Love me, love my dog. I am an absolutely irritating philosopher, am I not?
I haven't seen much of our local deer since spring. Then, while in the garden this evening, ...
A loner. Probably a buck. Season doesn't open until 9-26. I'm gonna need a crossbow for this job.
While I wish I could use the SMLE, it scares me. Houses behind the garden. I'm not too worried about a miss; its just that a deer isn't too "thick". Even a soft-point coming out the other side could be dangerous, and the black bear was "thick" and still had a decent exit hole. And I remember Chuck's rabbit. The one that was hiding behind the telephone pole, with just a fringe of hair sticking up. And the shot that went through the telephone pole and turned him into a yard wide hasenpfeffer. Even if that was a full metal jacket round. Old Smiley has a lot of oomph.
Gotta get a crossbow. And I have to fix the shed loft so it makes a comfy blind.
We bought our beet seed at Copley Feed this year. Detroit Dark Reds. Shortly after it was planted, I noted that one of the sprouts looked a bit strange -- too green among beet greens tinged with red. Sunday I went out to pull a few (have to thin them, you know) and I decided that the oddball would be the first victim. As I bent to pull it, I was flabbergasted by size of the root. I pulled, and out came a monstrosity.
It was a radish. I wish my father-in-law could have seen this one! Despite the size, it was tender and relatively sweet inside. Usually big radishes are stringy and vilely "hot". We have been slicing it and using it; one slice covers a half slice of bread.
My regret is that I didn't leave it to go to seed. This one could get the Darwin Award for sure. Maybe I can clone it -- make the top sprout roots. Maybe.
Joonyah and I were talking about old times and we decided to visit Beauval again. Our ticket was provided by Google maps. Thirty years ago, this was home. The Canadian Department of Indian and Northern Affairs paid me to teach in this lovely backwater, and provided housing at a nominal cost. We left in 1980 because the Government of Saskatchewan would not allow me to keep my teaching certificate unless I became a Canadian citizen. When we left, the school and its grounds had just been turned over to the English River Band.
The old residential school building is no longer standing. The shop down by the river, where I rebuilt my truck engine, is gone. The hockey rink, which was lovingly maintained by both students and staff, is no more. Joonyah pointed out that the old school bus still seems to be parked in the back, though. Some of the best years of our lives were spent in this isolated (at that time) backwater. The memories of what was then still make me a bit homesick, but I think we left at the right time.------------------
This is a better shot that I stole from somebody's web page. My biology / chemistry lab was in the low section of the new addition on the far right. That is Lac La Plonge in the distance.
It seems the residence shut down in 1983, just 3 years after we left. We definitely left at the right time.
How many Chicago politicians does it take to start a new American Revolution?
Notice the power given to the Attorney General, an appointed official, to determine who can own a firearm, how much his license will cost, and any additional regulations he deems necessary.
Look at Section 601. It is time for the legislatures and governors of the States to stand up and declare that their States are not bound by any act of Congress which attempts to override the literal text of the United States Constitution.
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HR 45 IH
Mr. RUSH introduced the following bill; which was referred to the Committee on the Judiciary
Recently (very recently) the President stated that unemployment in the US of A would probably rise to 10% as his stimulus program produced results. In fact, the stock market has been responding to government statistics; as unemployment has risen, the market has gone down (Inverse Obamanation Law of Economics). But ... what do you think of these statistics, which are official Department of Labor numbers?
10% you say? What is this 16+% we are seeing? Somebody wants us to see U-3 but not U-6? It looks like we have Obamanomic success beyond our wildest nightmares. Anybody want to give Wall Street some advice?
My Help Meet decided that I needed some new jeans for the job. (Walking around cow pastures, through the woods, and into manufacturing plants does not require formal work wear, unless it is "farmer formal".) Last week she bought me two pairs of Faded Glory brand jeans at WallyWorld. As I was exploring them, I noticed that the watch pocket seemed larger than normal. Sure enough, the watch pockets on those two pair had been enlarged to enable storing a cell phone.
Imagine that! The whole purpose of that little bitty pocket was to enable the working gent to keep his pocket watch there without having the fob catch on things as he worked. (What! You thought it was for storage of your spare pennies? How droll!) The modern gentleman laborer no longer carries a fancy pocket watch (unless he is an ostentatious fop himself), and instead packs a cell phone which not only lets the government know where he is, at all times, to within a few yards, but also allows instantaneous world-wide communication, functions as a calculator and timepiece with stopwatch, and even (except for rare exceptions now) allows him to photograph or video record events (which can be broadcast world-wide as well).
Most clothing manufacturers seem to still be in the Dark Ages of the early 20th Century with respect to design, but not Faded Glory. They have incorporated the modern equivalent of the gentleman's watch pocket in their bluejean design. Or at least I hope it was a conscious decision. Since I have at this moment only two specimens from which to draw my conclusions, I could be wrong. Nevertheless, I salute the Faded Glory Jeans Company for their Intelligent Design, which furthers the evolution of the blue jean in America.
If they were really intelligent, they would use this blog post as an advertisement, and pay me a royalty -- because this post is copyrighted by me under current US law -- like all the other Sayings of Grandpa Jim (©2003).
One of the reasons I wanted to fine-tune the Nylon 66 was the thievery occurring in my cherry tree. Old Owl sat on his stick, but he wouldn't give a hoot (even if we can hear REAL great horned owls every evening) and the birds were ignoring him. Fiberglass must have caught in his throat. The only things that were halfway scary were his eyeballs, and the birds flew right past him, and even ignored my fluttering foil cake dishes.
Ergo, I planned to reduce the population of feathered bandits. Meanwhile, my Smarter Half decided that we should simply pick the cherries, because they were almost all ripe, and that's what we began to do. We had filled two pans, so she went back to the house to get me an empty, and when she gave it to me, she left me in the tree (actually, on the stepladder) to finish picking while she began to pit.
The robins were not happy about my presence in the tree. They were screeching and flying around, and must not have been paying too much attention to other things. Suddenly I noticed the intensity of the screeching changed, and one bird sounded like it was in terrible distress. Sure, enough, sitting on the ground about 10 yards away was an avenger -- a Cooper's hawk. As I watched, it tore feathers from the still struggling robin. Then it tore chunks out of it and started enjoying its meal.
After a few minutes some bluejays started dive-bombing the hawk, never really getting too close. Finally, the hawk picked up what was left of the robin and flew off, with the jays in hot pursuit.
So there is justice in the land, after all. Thieves will be eaten.
I have been given to understand that farmers who used to have problems with chicken hawks would erect a pole with a muskrat trap on top in their poultry yards. Maybe I should erect a pole, say about 20 feet high, but with a nice perch for Mr. Cooper's Hawk. If I am nice to him, maybe I won't need Mr. Fiberglass Owl as much.
My Honey said she saw a bald eagle in her cherry tree. I'm still looking for him.