Are There Angels?

A few years ago we were traveling across the desert from Los Angeles to Las Vegas.  We had crossed the U.S.A. in one of our transcontinental camping jaunts and were returning home to the east coast.  The Mojave Desert lay in front of us on a scorching summer day. It was a beautiful clear day as the miles sped beneath our Toyota's wheels at a rate greater than one mile per  minute.  Some Lynyrd Skynyrd was playing softly on the radio as we chatted about what we expected to do in the glitz capital of the country.  The harmony of these moments of marital tranquility was broken by the sound of the front passenger side tire on our car disintegrating.  We rolled to a bumpy stop on the side of the nearly deserted highway.  (I guess bad things happen when you play Skynyrd softly.)

Upon observation, sure enough the tire was shredded.  We would need to call AAA for service.  We were standing beside the car surveying the damage when Claudette said to me, "Is that a man up there?" pointing in the direction we were traveling.  "It is, if it isn't one of those mirages they used to have in those desert movies," I answered as I surveyed the seemingly unending miles of sagebrush surrounding us. But the figure had appeared almost as an apparition, and as he came closer we saw that he was a man of about six feet tall and 175 pounds and appeared to be in his early thirties with dark brown hair cut short. He wore jeans, Reeboks, and would you believe, a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. As he walked up to us he pulled two small bottles of water from his pockets and said, "You look like you need help and could probably use a drink of water." We thanked him for the water, and he asked if we had a spare tire.  We began to unload the trunk in order to reach the spare.  It actually took us longer to dig out the spare tire than it did for our new friend to change it.  But, without much difficulty,  we were soon on our way.  We  asked our new friend if we could give him a ride, although I don't know where there was room for him in the car, because when we camp coast-to-coast we pack the car from the back bumper to the back of the front seats. He declined our offer  and  said his wife and children were waiting for him up ahead and walked away. We stowed away the last few pieces of camping equipment before continuing toward Las Vegas. 

A few miles further I said to Claudette, " We never did see that fellow's family waiting for him did we?"

"No," she answered, "and we didn't even ask his name."

Questions:  Is listening to Sweet Home Alabama in the morning a bad omen and/or are there really  angels?

I Don't Know Why I Draw or A Visual Data Repository

Watercolor sketch 5 X 6

It is something I've always done. Perhaps, it has something to do with, as Hercule Poirot would say, the little gray cells. But ever since I could hold a pencil in my chubby little hand I've drawn pictures. All children draw. I did but did not stop. Why?  Is it an unconscious desire to create or a method to record what I see around me?  I do know that through the years my brain has been stimulated more by pictures than words. A couple of cases in point.... I have great difficulty understanding mathematical relationships, but if they can be illustrated with graphs or vectors I seem to grasp the concepts quickly.  I never would have passed Labor Econ in college had the professor not presented the information graphically. 

Sketchs from the UK

One of my greatest joys of drawing over the years have been my sketchbooks, which I refer to as repositories of visual data.  While in the U. S. Navy I began keeping my drawings in a sketchbook and have continued some fifty-odd years.  In many cases they are autobiographical.  They easily document where I was when I made the sketch. It may be the sketch of a hippie chick lounging beneath the lion in front of the Art Institute of Chicago or a camel in Tangier or a Manila hotel room. My sketchbooks include more than drawings.   You'll find ticket stubs, postage stamps, beer labels, and other objects.  Some times I'll do a rubbing.  I remember once in Wisconsin after I had completed a sketch of a Frank Lloyd Wright designed church I noticed the architect's signature in stone by the door. I made a rubbing of it using my wife's eyebrow pencil.

Long before Moleskin began putting envelopes inside the back of their blank books I was attaching them to the inside of my 5 X 8 spiral bound sketchbook and I stash  tidbits of printed matter there.  I have been fortunate not to have lost but one book in my travels. When we were in Ironbridge, England, and I left my book when we left there.  I bought another book  in Dublin and was fortunate to have my lost book returned via mail about a month after our return to the U.S.A. 

All my paintings start out as a sketch in  my book. The overall compositing is defined and a valued drawing created. Frequently I work out the color harmony as well.  Sometimes many thumbnails are done before finding exactly the right combination.  

There are other uses as well.  It is easier to understand some mechanical processes with a drawing. For example, for several years I have been attempting to render a drawing of a particular 18th century mill in McCormick County, SC.  I have visited the ruins and based on information gathered have drawn a floor plan.  There were four types of waterwheels used during this period and based on my information and drawings I can be reasonably certain what type  of wheel was used. Based on my research I am now very near the completion of this project. My sketchbook contains drawings as well as copies of researched mill data.

I usually provide a visual reference to the size of objects in my sketches. For example I may refer to an object being "4 pens" in length.  I normally use the same size ballpoint pen for all my drawings. Although not super accurate it does record a relative size.

I think the term repository of visual data is fairly descriptive, don't you?

Screen shot of family website with sound, video, and interactive games designed in sketchbook.

Claudette, Angie, Susie, Dixie, and Me.

We were eastbound on Interstate 26 traveling in excess of seventy miles-per-hour when the tire shredded. It was the front tire on the passenger's side of the car.  There was a steady stream of traffic as we pulled over on the wide shoulder of the highway.  It was 10:45 in the evening when the car rolled to a stop. Claudette immediately began to call Triple A on her cell but then realized we didn't know exactly where we were. After starting the navigation application on my cell, Dixie instantly informed me, after finding a GPS signal, that we were 7.1 miles west of Exit 187. Who was Dixie? Dixie is the name I've given the female voice on my cell phone navigation system. Claudette has Susie and her car has Angie. I developed quite a relationship with Angie on a trip from Phoenix to Goose Creek alone.  We have friends who have the British entertainer John Cleese's voice on their system.  Of course you must be accustomed to the British terms used in motoring. For example, he uses the expression "give way" instead of "yield".  These navigation system are a credit to modern technology originally developed for the military.  There are 24 satellites that orbit the earth that are the backbone of the system. Through the transmission and reception of radio signals the received data allows for the accurate location of any earth bound vehicle properly equipped.  Therefore, I was sitting in an automobile looking at a map on my cell listening to a female voice give instruction.  During the long wait for the tow truck a state trooper made an appearance and queried us about our situation and offered assistance. He said we could call him at "star-HP".  I guess it is fitting that their number has a star since they represent law enforcement.  My father always referred to a highway patrolman as "the man". I am not fond of flashing blue lights but must say they were a welcome sight that night. 

It seemed to take forever for the tow truck to arrive.  Forever was about an hour and a half.  Shortly after he put on the spare tire he noticed it was flat. Lightning had been flashing continuously while he worked on the car, and now it began to rain. Noisy heavy drops began to pound a rhythm on the car as the tow truck operator began to attach cables to the car to pull it onto the tilt bed truck.  We had reached the decision that we must tow, i.e. haul, the car to a gas station to get air for the tire.  The time was past midnight when we piled into the cab of the tow truck.  The rain was pouring down, and the lightning illuminated what I believe was an old man building a boat with a bunch of animals watching.  The umbrella I had was made for a thin person, a very thin person. I got drenched. Claudette's fingers were moving on her phone at a maddening pace. Susie tells us that there is a BP station a few miles away.  Dixie was silent due to the death of her battery. Claudette decides to call the gas station due to the lateness of the hour.  She finds that the first two stations listed don't answer and the third is over twenty miles away but is open all night.   The rural roads are narrow with little traffic as the heavy rain limits visibility of the highway lit by continuous lightning. Some of the thunder claps were so close I'm sure some of my dental work was damaged.  Claudette and the driver engaged in a lively chat about speed traps in local municipalities. We followed Susie's verbal directions to the gas station and got air in our tire to continue our journey home. One unfortunate thing was Susie sent us in the opposite direction from our destination! But then she did send us to the closest gas station.  The question then became, "Should we go to breakfast at Waffle House before home?"

What would we have done without a cell phone and navigation system?  I'm not sure.  A navigation application on a cell phone is helpful whether you're searching for a gas station on a stormy night in South Carolin or cupcakes in Georgetown.  And, voice commands really make it simple to find what you need.

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A good explanation of navigation systems and how they work can be found at Garmin's website.

At the Zoo

We hurried west on South Carolina's  Interstate 26 from the coast noting the brilliant billboards announcing, "The Dragons are Here!". We were finally, after two years deliberation, going to visit Riverbanks Zoo in Colunbia.  The day was beautiful, the second day of summer, and though it would be warm, not the days of August's inferno.  We were surprised to see quite a few visitors.  It was shortly after opening at nine,  and we almost had to wait in line for tickets.

The information booth on the left provided us with a map, and we were on our way.  Without consulting the map we passed under the dragon advertising banner into the reptile house.  In the darkness the plexiglas enclosures are illuminated, so the snakes and other reptiles are visible.  Displays are organized geographically.  There is quite a collection of rattlesnakes which are native to South Carolina.  I am not overly fond of snakes and never would have touched one if it had not been for an incident with the Boy Scouts of America. I was an adult leader on a camping trip when I found out that if the Scouts found out you were afraid of snakes you would probably find one in you sleeping bag.  So with great fear and trepidation I handled a king snake in full view of the entire troop.  And no, I never found a snake in my sleeping bag.  The Komodo dragons were quite active.  I was expecting them to be at  least eight-feet-long like those we had seen in Phoenix, but these were only two months old and about two-feet-long.  There were other interesting lizards, also, like those funky Australian ones the have the big flap of skin that they can raise up.  There were Geckos and iguanas too.  The reptile house exits to some freshwater fish aquaria and some crocodiles.

We consulted the map and found it rather useless.  However, it may have been designed  for the XBox generation, and we just didn't get it.  There were some interesting birds in some large cages.  The macaws and toucans were easily recognized.  There was a tunnel-like structure which had small apes in cages illuminated by the sun. The  aquariums had a great selection of saltwater fishes stared at by small children. The high pitch of laughter and other sounds apparently do not upset the fish. But then where could an upset fish go?  Behind a screen of bamboo there is probably a fish therapist in a white lab coat waiting?

We wandered along the paths avoiding large groups of children and young mothers with tots in huge strollers. I've ridden in taxi cabs in Europe smaller than these kiddie haulers. There is a pond and some huge boulders in the elephant area. We saw four elephants as they appeared at feeding time. I think I felt the earth tremble a bit as these Africans hurried to get lunch. Ah, trembling earth, a burning sun, red dust, and the smell of elephant dung...life is good.  The next large animals we encountered were the giraffes; they were near a small herd of zebras.  This was a kid friendly area where kids could buy leafy green vegetation to feed the long-necked creatures.  Little Johnny paid his money and bought giraffe food and dutifully climbed up on the platform to feed the animals. But little Johnny, being little Johnny, quickly jerked the food out of the reach of the giraffe. He did this several times before the giraffe apparently got a bug up his nose and sneezed.  Little Johnny was upset and ran screaming for his mommy with giraffe mucus dripping off him. I laughed, but not too loud.  We saw koala bears in what felt like a refrigerated room, and they were playing dead with their eyes open. Actually, koalas normally move very slow to conserve energy.  Next we entered a bird cage with the Lorikeets.  They are beautiful colorful birds with parrot-like beaks.  One jumped on my extended finger and pinched my finger with his beak.  He was expecting food, which I had not purchased.  I don't believe in hand-outs.  Maybe if he had performed a trick or something he would have earned some food.

One animal we simply had to see was the mountain gorilla.  They have two silverbacks at the Riverbanks Zoo.  It was the closest I had ever been to a four hundred pound primate.  Thick plexiglas separates the viewer from the big apes.  He was laying on his back with his legs crossed chewing on a straw. On my side of the barrier was a little girl of four.  I was struck by the contrasts.  Pretty vs. ugly.  Small vs. large. Colorful vs. monochrome. Free vs. captive.

We saw the lion in  a lion-size cave, a hyena, and the statue of Happy the Tiger.  According to novelist Pat Conroy Happy the Tiger was the reason for the zoo.  Happy lived in a cage at a local Esso station as a promotional gimmick and children would feed him when their parents bought gasoline.  Some folks thought Happy should have been in a zoo, and an idea was born.  Happy was the first animal at the zoo but could not adapt to a huge living area and regular tiger food.

After some lunch we caught the tram and crossed the river to the Botanical Gardens.  The gardens are beautiful and well worth the trip even if you don't go to the zoo.

We had a great day at Riverbanks Zoo and Botanical Gardens, and I'm sure all the kids we saw had  a lot of fun too, but I'm not so sure about their parents.

Man's Favorite Dog

Today I ate my all time favorite fast food.  I may call it that but never junk food.  I'm talking about the legendary tube steak, the hot dog.  I have always loved hot dogs.  Even though I once worked in a meat processing plant in the sausage room where I processed the wieners by the thousand. I still like to eat them although I don't eat the brand that I once processed.  Indeed part of my education was learning that a wiener is a sausage and that the hot dog was invented by accident when someone sliced open a roll and put a sausage in it. Ah...such a colorful history about such a delicacy.  I am discerning in my tastes of hot dogs. While in Chicago I saw a hot dog with lettuce tomatoes and cucumbers on it. I'll take my salad in a bowl, thank-you.  They say a New Yorker never puts catsup on his dog.  There's no accounting for poor taste.  Some cover them with cole slaw, sour kraut or something else.  Most of these coverings should be considered sacrilege. And never, never confuse a wiener with a bratwurst.

I like my hot dog with a Ball Park or Hebrew National wiener. I don't eat "all-meat" wieners, they don't say where the meat comes from.  That wiener must be on a white steamed bun. It must be steamed. I like the wiener smothered in chile, with French's mustard and Hunts catsup and diced onions, but not Vidalia onions. French's mustard is bright yellow the way mustard should be and because of my political beliefs I refuse to use Heinz catsup.  The chile I make is from the recipe below that I got it from a friend who was a television videographer who got it from the station's weatherman.

Bill's Chili

• 1-11/2 lbs. ground beef (browned and drained) 
•  2T chile powder 
• 1/2 t Celery salt 
• 1/2 garlic salt
• 1/2 ground black pepper
• 1/2 cup catsup

Mix together and cook for 15 min. on low heat 

I add a touch of hot sauce  for a little bite and cook the beef in water, it falls apart better

I was selling bottles I had collected when I was a kid to the owner of what is now referred to as a convenience store.  It also sold fish bait and hot dogs and other stuff guys would need for a day of fishing on the near by lake.  I had only been there a few minutes when a big fellow with a hot dog in his hand came blasting through the door.
"This bun doesn't  have a wiener in it!" he said in a loud voice and without the customary southern accent.
Old man Parks, the store owner, stopped counting my bottles and looking him straight in the eye said, "You got what you asked for. If you had asked for a hot dog with chile instead of a chile dog you would have gotten a wiener1"