Meanderings - Jul 21, '02

Hi all,

Some people truly amaze me. The other day I received an email from my
cousin Margaret in which she reeled off the names of about 50 relatives
that she had talked to, thought of or heard about recently. In short she
sat down at her keyboard and within a few minutes referred to more people
than could be dredged from my cranium under hypnosis. The sad part - if
they are relatives of hers, most of them would be relatives of mine too.

Margaret also added the email address for Cuz'n Alan, with a notation to
count it as a miracle if I ever heard from him. Alan, the gauntlet has
been cast - send me an email - do it for the brotherhood, don't let the
women of the family mock us so!

I finally went in to see the Doc. No particular reason, it was just time
for my ritual decade checkup - my motto - think healthy, stay healthy and
avoid the humiliating discomfort of that vaseline lubricated, latex encased
digit. This year I was subjected to a particularly revolting discovery.
In college, I had been a slim, robust, 70.5++ inches tall specimen; the guy
who appeared for my appointment this year measured in at a portly 68.75
inches. At this rate, there is a real danger that by the time I am 75 I
may become as short as a certain brother.

With our doc, when the blood work results come in, the office provides a
phone message for you to use in order to access the results - in my case
the cholesterol count was 153. I really don't know what cholesterol is all
about - in fact I probably couldn't even spell it without the spell
checker, but I am aware that many people (particularly in our family) seem
to talk about high numbers - as though the number was a badge of honor.
When Sharon got home that evening, she excitedly asked my what my
cholesterol count had been. Not wanting to disappoint, I fudged a bit and
proudly told her that my count was 355. She fainted - I guess that was a
bit too high. The household critters were able to revive her with ample
tongue massaging.

None-the-less, the doc was properly impressed, noting that I am healthier
than most people he sees - he politely avoided saying "healthier than most
people he sees at my age". Such tact will certainly bring me back again -
in another 10 years or so.

Arizona is a very special place but living here continually requires a
great deal of adjustment. This may be the only state where walking in the
rain will leave you dirtier than not bathing for days or weeks. A few days
ago our monsoon season started and unleashed it's pent-up furry on the
plant where I work - the power went off and the Ultra Pure Water system
shutdown while I was at home. As soon as the crew got a chance they put
out the message for me, so I jumped into my vehicle and started for the
plant to lend a hand.

As soon I entered the edge of the storm, the windshield smeared over with
mud - I assumed the rain had washed the dust from the surfaces of the truck
onto the windshield and so I calmly turned on the windshield washer. The
mud disappeared momentarily and then immediately re-appeared to smear the
windshield with a sticky goo. More windshield washer was applied - once
again the mud disappeared and immediately re-appeared. I was dumbfounded,
this could not be just dust from the surfaces of the truck and I was
quickly running out of windshield washer fluid. As I drove deeper into the
storm the wildly thrashing windshield wipers finally were able to clear the
windshield of the sticky mass, but as I passed under a street light, I saw
a torrential brown river of mud streaming from the windshield like a thin
cafeteria gravy. Soon the crew reported that they had the plant up and
running, so I turned around in the middle of the storm and carefully
retreated home.

Rain is normally a cause for celebration. April showers bring May flowers
and all of that. The following morning my disenchantment continued -
everywhere water had pooled during the storm was now quickly drying into a
miniature mudflat - our patio and the bed of my truck were covered with a
layer of mud. The air, rather than having been scrubbed sparkling clean by
the torrential rain, was left so laden with dirt that the rising sun was no
more than a brilliant orange orb that could viewed directly by the
unprotected eye. It had rained mud and if you were caught out in it, you
certainly needed a shower. Most localities admit to the occasional raining
of cats and dogs, and while I have never seen any of those fabled creatures
I can say I am growing quite weary of raining mud-balls. Still, it was
moisture and we definitely need more moisture, not to mention the
additional top soil deposited on the lawn. I wonder if anyone will ever
write a song about our monsoons - wouldn't that be just special?

We have nearly completed our itinerary for the upcoming trip: We will leave
Phoenix on Friday the 26th and after some short excursions, arrive in Grand
Junction on the 27th. I will go "fishing" for fossils in Wyoming, arriving
in Kemmerer on the 28th. Sharon is planning on taking a bus from GJ to
Boulder sometime in the middle of the week and I will arrive in Boulder on
the evening of August 1st. Then I will leave to return to Phoenix on
August 3rd. Meanwhile, Sharon is planning on staying on in Colorado until
the 20th.

Perhaps on August the 2nd, the boys and I could go on a short hike or walk
- their father is invited to join us in the event Ethan wants a Sherpa.

Love from the Phoenix mudflats,
Sharon and Shorty.