One year ago today: July 28, 2013, I lost $20.
Five years ago today: July 28, 2009, Internet scams.
Ten years ago today: July 28, 2004, a banquet.
MORNING
Who recalls those useless “camping” mattresses. You know, the foam rubber pads that they claim you can roll up and take along. Every tried actually sleeping on one o’ dem bastards? Then you know what I mean by useless. Maybe if you piled six of them up. These things, look at the picture. That blue stuff on the bottom. Yeah, I got suckered into buying and only kept it because they cost so much. Well, a little further investigation shows that this material is ordinary anti-static foam.
And you know how when scooters get older, the kickstand really bangs against the frame and muffler. This foam makes an excellent oil-proof padding, just add a couple of strip ties. I’ve got myself a two year supply. By the standards of purchasing custom made foam, this is cheap, cheap, cheap.
Yes, the camper pod is already undergoing various upgrades based on the Canaveral Confunction. Once more, all wiring will be strung from the ceiling. All moving parts will be secured to the side walls. And the entire rear hatch will be custom built in the shop and later installed into the pod. The existing model worked, but it was problematic from the word go. And I didn’t like getting soaked in Winter Haven in the time it took to get the thing open. Right now, there is a bar across both doors, like on a castle or an old barn door. It works fine, but the lid must be opened first. But the dern rain couldn't wait.
We also fixed the scooter headlight for the umpteenth time, meaning I’ve earned lunch over at Five Guys. And I’d like to finally install the safety switch on my table saw. This relates to the new clubhouse. I prefer to do the really, really fine work here. It seems to go better when I do such work in-house.
NOON
Ah, motorcycle travel. Back what, four days now and I’m still peeling off layers of road grime. It gets into your pores where you can’t get at it. Takes around six showers. And Oil of Olay, thick layers of it against leather-face, as in Florida I don’t use the full face helmet. Too hot. When can I get back to my nice, quiet celestial navigation. I’m too busy to be this busy. I’ll have to show you my new timestamp device. It consists of an old wristwatch in the corner of the robot eye. Hey, it works.
There was a time I’d never set foot off campus, but back then I was half these people’s ages. Oh, they would disagree that they have become followers, but I told you about the Russian guy who stays back and watches what is really going on? That’s him chuckling at the far right. So there.
I’m guessing the true cost of printing a finger to be around $30 and not the $6 quoted at the meeting. Careful of signing up for things, as the primary contact for Nova is a third-party web site.
Thus, you get a lot of shifty operators claiming to be a hobby or club, but they are selling memberships and startup kits. Beware. If you think about it, there can be no such thing as a truly free pottery class. And the feminist and/or self-help groups? All of them talking confident, independent, and assertive—until the first time any little thing goes wrong, then watch them scatter.
And while we are on that topic, the robot meet-up has changed its entire format to humanoid robot. Fancy that. And the writer’s club has changed to “memoir writers”. Fancy that, too.
AFTERNOON
Finally, an afternoon to do what I wanted. Which was to doze off here in the cool air and read my peaceful, quiet tables. An imaginary trip across the Mexican isthmus with the sun. Drinking quinine water and turning everyone away from the door in less than five minutes. Well, unless they had business. Agt. M wanted to work in the new clubhouse, but the A/C isn’t connected yet. You want to work out there today, you go right ahead.
I’m ready for the next stage of navigation. This requires a small investment in charts and tables, so wait for August. Since cruises get kind of expensive, I wonder if there is some type of simulator available. The navigator takes five readings per day, the obvious noon reading being the least important. It gives you your latitude, indirectly, mind you. But the calculations and procedures are now clear, that is, I could pass the exam. I need some hands-on.
Let me write down the steps again: (Remember, this journal is also my log.)
Record your dead reckoning position on a chart.
Take the sextant (sun’s altitude) and time of day.
Use the time of day to look up the sun’s “Geographic Position” or GP.
Choose and assumed point (the only complicated part).
Compare the sun’s angle at the GP to what you measured.
Mark a calculated position on a line to or away from said assumed point.
Repeat after several hours, and the two lines should cross.
That’s where you are at, in theory.
EVENING
This is a day the way things are supposed to go. Peace and quiet. I didn’t even take up an offer to go for coffee. Me, refuse a coffee? Stranger things have happened. I fell asleep in the rocker and did finally bike up to Drunkin for a late cup. The place up on Federal. That’s always full of big-talking old men. Who drive cars they can’t really afford. You know the ones, pushing seventy and think they can open a pizza parlor. Wallace probably knows that crowd.
I’m also re-thinking a camper anti-theft package. It is not enough to alarm it, but somehow it must be immobilized to the point that a theft attempt becomes loud and clear. It was a treat to park the camper at the Canaveral Jetty and trip around town light and easy. But that was a gated park with a guard who was taken by the unit when I drew up. My thinking is something that blocks the hitch and freezes the tires in place. Then it could only be stolen by picking the thing up, which requires four men.
ADDENDUM
I’ve just been informed that Jackie, the maintenance guy from the club, passed away last Thursday morning. Knew the guy eight years, he used to keep an eye on my equipment during the week. He didn’t make a fuss over anyone and demanded the same in return. Those who didn’t understand that nicknamed him “the troll”, but I knew a different character.
Over the years, he had told me what he’d never said to the others. He had a wife and kids and a corporate job. He’d done the house and the mortgage. I don’t know where, but it must have been in his distant past. The job had driven him to drink, although I never saw him touch a drop. I chummed with the guy a few times, went up to the Legion in Dania.
I don’t grieve much over such events, I see them as natural in the continuum. For the record, that leaves two from the original “gang”, the crowd that was at the club that day I walked in back in 2006. That’s Sammyford and myself. And neither of us is signing up for the Olympics.
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