One year ago today: November 15, 2023, mining lithium . . .
Five years ago today: November 15, 2019, 57% of people.
Nine years ago today: November 15, 2015, a dozen unfinished.
Random years ago today: November 15, 2012, imagine, calling me weird.
Another long day, and the chill is not making me happy. See if you can tell. I once again am the only person around here who makes hearty breakfasts. The company are like everywhere, they don't get up early enough but if you cook enough for everybody, they crowd around the table. Which brings us full cycle to may short stint some sixty years ago as the cook at scout camp. I've got this crew eating grits, pancakes, and scrambled eggs, the cheapest way to feed group. I'm not that compassionate, they have to mostly buy the food. It's no chore in the sense that items like grits and pancakes are better the larger batch you make up at once. Strange, all these people are from the south and did not eat grits as a staple until I came along.
So, since they are all downstairs, I get to wake them up early every day to let the dog out in the yard for his morning constitutional. That's the twenty-minute stretch where I put on the coffee, crank up the stove, and the cats begin singing because it's feeding time. Back in Florida, I may not insist on Friday's off. Here, I'm more stern about it and that is why I took time to apply a double coat of oak stain to the little box from the dollar store. Oops, I guess I didn't show you pics of these boxes. They are die-cut out of a type of balsa plywood. It takes well to stains and I was hoping to see how they look with a shell of acrylic. When I got out to the shed, several cans of my best coatings had dried up. Probably because it freezes here and the lids get loosened. This is the box I use for spare change in the van.
French beer.
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Trump's appointments continue to dominate the airwaves, it's clear to me he's learned that years of creeping Democrat control can be toppled in a wink. My theory is that since Democrats don't dare operate in the open, they can never make a move fast enough for people to call them out. Who recalls the 2008 campaigning when no politicians of either side would address the issues that concerned most voters. It was insane how every candidate went on about abortion and gay rights while there was a war going on. They refused to discuss high taxes, unemployment, and loss of infrastructure. In some cases they refused to answer when pressed and insulted those who asked. This makes for a fragile platform and depends on keeping the opposition off-balance. And it worked until Trump arrived. Fauci has gone into hiding and it's amazing to watch how fast so many school boards have started wiping their asses.
Here's one for you. FEMA is demanding proof of American citizenship for aid, but only from White people and FEMA won't accept driver's licenses or birth certificates. They must really have a death wish, no way is Trump going to condone that. As Tucker says, when the left screams Trump is out of control, they mean out of their control.
I am devoting some thought to the day when I might find time and be disabled enough to build these kits, but I wold market them through a swap meet or street fair. Here's an idea I've come up with. Suppose you want a box with some unique decoration. Here's an easy idea. While the web is full of jigsaw boxes and such, there are none where the box itself has, say a lid, with a completed jigsaw puzzle as a cover. I've got a dozen "granny art" puzzles I just throw in a frame and hang on my blank hallway wall, where nobody ever seems them. Why not marry the concepts of box making, jigsaw puzzles, and framing to make something I don't think anybody has seen before. (It would be insanely expensive to complete jigsaw puzzles for this purpose--and if you did somebody would get the idea of using new puzzles before they were broken up.
ADDENDUM
The Great North Pacific Mutiny. It was in the early 90s, a summer weekend. Scooter, whose real name was Don Kinneberg, knew a guy who had a sailboat. Months earlier, my pal from work and I had taken one of those school board courses, that was the days before the courses became just another sales pitch. We met Scooter in a night club near the rail station and he said he'd also like a day on the water, if we could approach Captain Adam. I think it was Adam this was a while back.
Anyhoo, those who live near the coast define a sailboat as a hole in the water into which you pour money. It turns out Capt. Andrew was the Chief of a major but dying native Indian tribe who leased some major seafront property to housing and business development. And he had this sailboat.
Capt. Andrew was born long after any Indian troubles and he had been a sailing fan since day one. Indeed, he had a great little sailboat and was only too glad to have company and show it off and exactly what you'd expect. He was also an exceptional host, and totally liked the way Liz and I could help with all the duties. It was a day to remember, the west coast islands and passages are a fantastic boat outing.
As we pulled into port, Capt. Andrew invited us to join in a traditional native feast at a restaurant owned by his tribe. He had to pay like any other customer and it was a five star establishment. When the tab arrived, Liz and I confiscated it. Capt. Adam howled as we not only paid our share but also for his dinner, I was the one who said, "Captain, looks like you have a mutiny on your hands."
You rarely see a man laugh like he did, saying why if we were on the boat, as we usurped his authority on dry land. We found out later this had made a hugely favorable impression on the whole community. Sadly, the Captain passed away before there was ever a repeat. The Great North Pacific Mutiny of 1991. Or so. This may be the only record of that day, as it was during the last spell I never kept a journal.
