From: Meridian, ID

And so, my fishing interlude has come to an end; George and Jerry are on the Interstate as we speak, heading for home. We had a great time! The weather was near perfect, and so was the fishing, although better on Days #2 and #3 than on Day #1. (The weather was the opposite, i.e., better on Day #1 than  on #2 and #3.)

We spent Tuesday at Lucky Peak Lake, relatively close to home. I’d been hearing for days/weeks that folks were doing real well trolling for Kokanee there, and it seemed a good place for a “shakedown” cruise for my boat…the one that hasn’t been outside the garage for over a year. These land-locked salmon (Kokanee) are famous (among fishermen) for their “soft” mouths. Often difficult to find, they are even more difficult to land, because it is so easy to pull a hook through their lips. We began getting “strikes” almost immediately after launching the boat, and we were able to get several fish to the side of the boat, but even those we thought to be firmly hooked were eventually able to break free. However, George and I have fished for Kokanee on quite a few previous occasions…neither of us was surprised by their Houdini-like escapes. What did surprise us, however, was the size of some of our hook-ups! They were just dandy Kokanee…at 17 inches and better. (I’m pretty firm on that number because one of the ones Jerry caught measured that, and confirmed his pay-off for “biggest fish” for the day’s three traditional fishing bets: First, Biggest, and Most.) During my life, so far, I’ve caught but two that were (probably) a tiny bit bigger than that, but lots and lots of Kokanee fishers are plenty happy with twelve-inchers, you betcha! Two of the fish that came “unbuttoned” next to the boat during the day – one for Geo and one for me – were that big, and of course many of those that got loose before we caught a glimpse of them could have been that big, as well. Actually, most likely bigger…MUCH bigger! Unlike the triploid Rainbow planted throughout the Northwest, which are sterile, Kokanee can and do propagate in the rivers and creeks that feed a reservoir. Like salmon, they turn red before their spawning run, and it makes quite a sight to see for anyone watching the spectacle. (And, to be perfectly honest, they normally don’t exceed 18 inches or so.) In addition to catching the biggest fish of the day, the kokanee had the distinction of being the very first trout Jerry had ever caught in Idaho. (For tears, he has given me static for making fish stories about trout here in the Treasure Valley.)

Wednesday morning dawned with the three of us headed down I-84 towards Mountain Home, where we turned eastbound into the hills to Little Camas Reservoir. After I bought my boat in the late summer of 1998, this small reservoir was my never-fail “go to” fishing hole. Oh, because of its propensity for serious summer “blooms” of algae – in addition to very warm water temperatures – most folks didn’t care for the taste of late-season Little Camas trout. “Muddy” flavor, is a term they commonly use. In those days, I was smoking virtually 100 percent of the trout I caught, and, frankly, when prepared in that way I thought they tasted just fine.

With the new millennium, however, a string of draught years descended. The small (and relatively shallow) reservoir began drying up every summer, and thus becoming a fishery with no “holdover” trout. The only fish caught in the springtime were whatever Fish and Game planted after the ice melted each year. We’ve always been told that the planted trout grew very quickly in the reservoir…but not so quickly that one had any chance to catch anything much over 12 or 13 inches. Many of us became disinterested in fishing Little Camas. Moreover, the drought continued for enough years that by the end of it, I had more or less let it drop from my list of possible fishing destinations. You can be sure that after these last two days, it is back on that list! Fish & Game has not planted any fish in the lake yet this year; last year they put in approximately 100,000 “catchable” fish. (That is, about 10 inches long.) I’ve not been able to pinpoint much logic in how the Department decides where to stock trout. Little Camas probably goes 5 or 6 hundred acres; Arrowrock Reservoir is listed at 3,150 acres, and yet only about 43,000 trout got dumped in to that one. Go figure.

It was a gorgeous fishing day! The water surface was un-disturbed by a single ripple, except those resulting from fish rising. I have taken to calling these circles in the water “fish dimples.” Geo goes along with that terminology, but Jerry persists in calling them fish ‘pimples.’ A breeze did come up later in the morning, but we welcomed it then because we realized it was blowing away the raiding parties of turkey-mosquitoes hovering over our boat.

We began catching nice Rainbow within minutes of launching. We also failed to get hook-ups on many strikes…nearly as regularly as was the case with the Kokanee in Lucky Peak. And we also lost too many fish that had actually gotten themselves hooked. I still haven’t got that figured out. One of the benefits of trolling is that more often than not, Rainbow will “set the hook” as they strike the bait.

We caught fish at about a one-every-ten minutes rate. Strangely (in my experience), the three of us were staying even as to the number we each caught. When we finally had to quit because we had a limit in the box, Jerry won for the most, with 7; George won for first fish; and I won for the biggest, with a margin of about ½ inch longer than Jerry’s biggest. (George landed a 17-incher, as well, but since it came after we were already headed for the ramp with 18 dead (or dying) fish, he had to release it. We didn’t measure it, so George’s “educated guess” as to its length grew from 17 to better than 20 inches during the ride home.)

We returned to the same reservoir on Thursday. Conditions were about the same, although it was a bit more overcast and the breeze came up earlier in the morning. The fishing was pretty much exactly the same. Geo caught a 17-incher not 3 minutes after we left the boat ramp, and it held up for “biggest fish” money all day (and “first” as well, obviously). But then the greedy rascal went on to take the prize money for “most.” A clean sweep for him.

In order to get home in time to clean fish and then clean ourselves up a little, we had decided to quit fishing at noon, and, surprisingly, we nearly made that goal. It took us longer to actually get the boat out of the water and ready to roll than it should have, so I think it was nearly 1:00 PM by the time the wheels were on pavement. George and Jerry had made plans to take Janet, Shirley and I out for dinner in the evening…that was the reason we had to quit fishing short of a limit. Even so, we brought home 13 more trout.

I had quite a time all week trying to remember how to properly back up with a trailer attached to my truck. Years ago I had gotten quite prideful of my skill at it, but now I know it must have been mostly good luck. Either that, or my learning curve ended on a cliff. It was awful this week, although I truly believe I had improved somewhat by the time it was time to retrieve the boat yesterday afternoon. In the morning when I was making a snaky approach to launch the boat, Jerry was trying to help me. I could here him saying, “The other way, Bud…the other way!” So I turned the other way. Still, I heard him chanting, “The other way, Bud, the other way!” So I would turn the other way. Nothing was working. The three old geezers who had launched ahead of us were, at least in my imagination, rolling on the beach in laughter by this point, and yet Jerry kept on coaching, “The other way, Bud, turn the other way.” Eventually, the trailer was in the water…but not quite far enough to allow the boat to

float. I could have simply backed up farther, but if I had, I would have backed off the edge of the concrete ramp. Embarrassed just short of tears streaming down my cheeks, I slammed on the parking brake, jumped out of the cab and walked into the water to push the boat off the trailer myself. There! Done! At earlier point on the ramp, Jerry apologized…he said he had been telling me incorrectly to “turn the other way.” I kind of doubt that…I think he was probably just trying to keep from driving home with the empty trailer behind me. leaving him and George to carry the boat home. Thankfully, and as I mentioned above, the retrieval of the boat went more smoothly. Better yet, when we arrived at my house, I successfully backed up to the garage on only the second try. Sheesh!

All in all, it was a simply great fishing week! Good company and good fishing…and it just don’t get much better than that. (Dinner at the Texas Road House was good, too! Thanks a lot, guys!)

George came by the place this morning, as planned, at 7:00 AM, picked up Jerry and his duffle, along with several baggies of trout fillets. By now, they should be half the way home. We were all some pretty whooped monkeys last night…three straight days of hard fishing may just be a day more than any of us need. I don’t know. Or, we might have felt better had one of the three days we had gone bank fishing; riding around in a too-small boat all day long can be tiring. There’s something about being on the water, especially when there is a wind a’blowing (or even a breeze) that seems to siphon off one’s energy. (I don’t hold with any theory based on “advancing years.”)

I must admit that I feel a little bad about not posting for nearly a week, but then again, you have to remember that my absence was for a very good cause. I wish you could have come along.

Bud

From: Meridian, ID

To all you ladies for whom the greeting is appropriate: “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!”

You know when I stop and think about it, I realize that I don’t know many (adult) women who are not mothers. And, rather oddly perhaps, I am somehow reassured by that. I think it an indication that maybe there is a chance for our species, after all.

Of somewhat less cultural significance, I would also note that Bud’s Blather passed its one-year anniversary a few days ago. May 8^th, to be precise. When I looked in the archives, it was readily apparent that I managed to write much more often last year…sometimes 4 or 5 days in a row. (Not that I had all that much to “say,” mind you…just more often.) At any rate, I don’t think I’ve done much damage over that space of time, so I reckon I’ll keep doing it, albeit at the less frequent posting routine I’ve adopted, lately. If nothing else, it helps (I think) to organize my thoughts, and there’s a chance that one day a descendant of mine may have an interest in reading about how we lived our lives waaayyyy back in the 21^st century. I know I often lament the fact that very little personal writing of my own ancestors has survived through the years. And none that originated further back than, say, my great-great-great grandparents. I would enjoy reading the journal of a Viking, I think.

Hey, maybe it’s that Scandinavian heritage that makes me love fishing as much as I do. Ya think? Not that the Vikings were much into fishing…I think raiding, plundering, and taking foreign women captive were their favorite pastimes. And I must admit that some of that sounds like fun to me, too.

As you surely must know by now (if you’ve read more than a couple of these blatherings), fishing is often on my mind, at some level. The level of anticipation is higher this weekend because my friends, George and Jerry, will be driving here tomorrow, and the three of us are planning three full days of fishing. I am determined to find a spot in southern Idaho where we can catch a decent mess of fish. Trout, most likely, but we will consider trying for almost anything that lives in the water. It won’t be easy…my personal catch rate for trout has been poor-to-nonexistent for nearly a year and a half. But this time we are going to fish from the boat…or have that option, anyhow. And that, I’m hoping, could make a very big difference. Just 30 miles away up at Lucky Peak, for example, the boat fishermen (trolling) are doing very well catching Kokanee trout. And decent-sized ones, at that. (The problem with those reports, however, is that they originated with fishermen…and therefore highly suspect.) Depending on what Geo and Jerry have in mind, we might plan that for Tuesday morning.

So, yesterday I spent much of the day “digging” the boat out of the garage. (Not having been in the water for over a full year, it had become more of a storage shelf than an actual watercraft.) I did a little grease-gun work, checking oil levels here and there on the motor, and draining the old gas out of the tank. My friends at the boat store I’ve used since I’ve lived here told me that was a critically important step. I’m not all that sure about it, but I guess if using fresh gasoline will help avoid a breakdown in the middle of a large lake, it’s probably worth the hassle. After bringing the boat back from the gas station I tried starting it up. It didn’t fire on the first crank…but it did on the second. HotCha! I’ve got the charger going on the trolling motor battery this morning. It shouldn’t take much, since I had topped it off prior to Geo’s visit last month. (It turned out we didn’t use the boat that time.)

One of my chores later today will be to rig several fishing poles for different modes of fishing. I’ll make sure to leave a couple set up for bank fishing, just in case, but I want to make sure I’m ready for trolling (for Kokanee or Rainbow…different rigs required), and also one pole set up for crappie or perch. And you thought a fishing pole was a fishing pole was a fishing pole? Ha! This is complicated business, I’ll tell you. Not just anyone is capable of the planning involved, let alone the various techniques necessary for proficiency. For example, can you describe the manner of drinking beer while you are fly-fishing? Trick question! You can’t drink beer while fly-fishing…the fishing takes two hands! (Which is why I’ve never become very interested in fly-fishing.)

After moving enough “stuff” to allow the boat to be wheeled outside, I elected to not put it back in the same spot. Why not just put it where the truck would normally be parked and leave the truck outside for the period the guys will be here? It will make it so much easier to get the boat in and out. This morning when I went for my Sunday morning mocha, I discovered a BIG downside to the park-in-the-driveway plan: The picture to the left will give you a clue as to what that “downside” was! Blah! Don’t you just wonder, sometimes, if more than a few birds do this kind of thing on purpose? I’ll tell you what…it makes me wonder if I haven’t been targeting the wrong neighborhood pests these past three years. I know for sure that squirrels have never done that to my windshield. Ah well, I’m making a run to Sportsmans Warehouse later today…I’ll stop by the carwash on the way home. (And from now on, I will avoid parking under the maple tree.)

I could mow the lawn today. That is to say, the grass is long enough to mow. But it still doesn’t look that bad…it will keep until tomorrow. Getting it done then will ensure I won’t have to think about it while the guys are here.

I may try to post something tomorrow, too…if I find I have anything to say. (I can hear you saying, “When did that ever stop him?”) But posting on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday will be, I’m sure, pretty much out of the question. Hopefully, I’ll have a bunch of fish pictures to put up on Friday! Fingers crossed.

And I also have my fingers crossed that you will all have a spectacular day, today. Especially if you are Mothers. I’m ashamed to say I was not very good (or thoughtful) about calling my Mom when it was still possible. Thankfully, after I married Janet she was good about reminding me to do so. Even so, I missed on occasion. Call your own Mom while you can! Do it now!

Bud

From: Meridian, ID

It’s a lovely day today, so whatever you’ve got to do, you picked a lovely day to do it in, that’s true…

And as far as I know, Irving Berlin never spent a moment in Meridian, Idaho. Go figure. I guess it must mean that there are at least a few other places around the country that have lovely days, as well…even if only occasionally.

Nephew Brad had some business meetings in Boise, yesterday, so he and Janet had arranged that he would stop by our house between those meetings. Jan had a prior commitment during that time, but Brad and I figured we would go out for lunch somewhere close and grab a sandwich. As it happened, his morning meeting ran a bit long (as many business meetings are wont to do) so instead of us going out, he stopped by a Subway shop and brought a couple of sandwiches here. We had a good time just hanging out. And, luckily, Jan got home before Brad had to leave for his second meeting, so she got to say, “Hey,” too.

Before he left, Brad mentioned a Meridian history program being held at City Hall in the evening. When he worked for Meridian city government he had met the city historian, Lila Hill, the lady who would be giving the talk. Lila, we learned, has been a Meridian resident for nearly 60 years, and what she doesn’t know about the town’s history is not worth thinking about. She used about half of the one hour time period to talk about homesteading in our area, and during the second half she focused on the establishment of the irrigation system in our part of the Treasure Valley. Both subjects were very interesting…we could have easily listened for a much longer program. And I’m sure Lila could have easily talked for that much longer. Many thanks to Brad for letting us know about the program; now we’re going to have to keep closer tabs on what’s happening at City Hall so we can find out, ourselves, when more of these kinds of things appear on the schedule. I won’t try to go into the details of what the town’s history consisted of, as it can be boiled down to one short sentence: Without water, this land was, essentially, useless to humans.

Jackrabbits liked it just fine, however, and there were, literally thousands upon thousands of them in the valley. Even before water became available to most farmers, government provided incentive in the form of cold, hard cash for people to get rid of them however possible. The bounty paid (for a pair of ears) varied a bit from year to year but generally held pretty close to a nickel. There are historical records detailing the expenditure of bounty money, i.e., the names of the bounty hunters and the amounts they were paid. One fellow earned $360.00 one year. At twenty rabbits to earn a buck, it means that particular hunter (or trapper, perhaps) took care of 7,200 jackrabbits that year. And there were dozens more men on the list of who got nearly as much! I tell you what; I won’t be doing much boasting about my own squirrel “relocation” program from now on. (As you might guess, $360.00 back in the late nineteenth century was some pretty serious money. Many people worked at jobs for which the annual salary was less than that.)

Gophers, too, were (and still are in some Idaho counties) worth cash: $1.00 per tail turned into the Ada County Irrigation District. (Gophers and irrigation canals do not mix well…the gophers can cause massive leakage from the canal embankments.) I’ve been told, also, that there are farmers out there still today that will pay $2.00 per tail, if one believes the gopher tails in question came from his own land. The rodents don’t only damage canals…they eat crops!

Speaking of gophers, remember a few days (weeks?) back when I mentioned that the empty acreage west of our house was being disked and fitted up for planting? The farmer was working again, today, and I got a chance to talk with him for a few minutes. First of all, he is not planting hay, as I had supposed; he is planting wheat. Since he is just now planting it, we can assume it is not Durum, or “winter” wheat, but “spring” wheat. (Durum is preferred for pasta; spring wheat is commonly used in bread.) He confirmed what I had thought to be true, i.e., the field has not been plowed or disked at all for the entire time we’ve lived here. This is the first time he has leased the field (I had asked him if he bought it), and he figures the cutting I’ve seen in previous years has been mostly done because of legal requirements (regarding weeds and fire danger), rather than the profitability of what little hay was coming off of it. I also asked him about water…and where he would get it. He informed me that there is an irrigation canal (small one) on the southern boundary of the field, and that’s the means he will have to water his wheat. Oh…yeah…I was talking about gophers. The farmer, name of Gary, says the entire nine-acre piece was a gopher ranch more than anything else…it was absolutely crawling with them. His dog caught eight of them in the space of 5 or 10 minutes while Gary was doing the initial harrowing. The hell with squirrels…maybe I can supplement my retirement annuity by getting into the gopher business, eh?

In the picture below, the main irrigation ditch is the one on the left; on the right side of the path is a secondary ditch that I assume can be filled from the main, and then the farmer will use siphon tubes to lift the water out of the smaller ditch and into the field. It seems strange – kind of unbelievable, actually – that the water will actually run all the way from the south part of the field to the north side, but Gary says it will do that.

One thing I am a bit curious about, though. Why did the county and/or irrigation district people decide to pay the bounty for gopher tails? It seems to me they’ve left a pretty wide opening for scammers, i.e., people who would capture gophers alive, snip off their tails, and then let them go. Obviously thinking it would be more profitable to have the tail-less ones breeding new gophers that would have tails. It is not as far-fetched as you may think; one old fellow I talked with last night remembers from his youth that some kids wouldn’t kill the jackrabbits that were somehow caught alive…they would simply cut off the ears (for the 5-cent bounty) and release the rabbits to take up breeding again. Oh, sure, the ear-less animals were probably self-conscious about their appearance, just as the tail-less gophers would be…but I’ll bet it didn’t stop them from making new bunnies!

Anyhow, I can’t tell you how tickled I was to have been able to talk with Gary this morning. For sixteen years (and some months) I’ve wondered about that field, and now I know. At least, I know how big it is. I had always figured around five acres…maybe a bit more. But I didn’t figure it was ten, which it turned out to be. Gary is planting nine…the other acre is taken up with the owner’s house lot and the unplanted fence boundary around the place.

Janet and I yesterday completed one week of being a Nielsen family. That’s right…that Nielsen. We were contacted (initially by telephone) several weeks ago and asked if we would like to do it, and I said, “Sure, we’ll try.” I had always thought that the famous Nielsen ratings were derived via some sort of electronic magic…a device hooked to our TV sets, or something like that. Turns out, it is nothing of the sort. We received booklets, one for each working television set in the house. Each booklet has printed forms, one for each day of the week, with each day broken into fifteen-minute viewing time segments. Each household viewer (and visitor, when any are present and watching TV) must be accounted for: What channel name, number, and program watched. In the case of recorded programs, we must log the time we watched them, but also the date and time (and channel, etc.) they were recorded. Honestly, it is rather a hassle, truth be told. Originally, I thought it would be kind of fun to be one of the (few) families impacting the networks’ choice of programming for the entire nation. I even dreamed Jan and I might be able to turn the trend around, bringing the ax down on some of the mindless junk that passes for modern TV entertainment. But, alas, I don’t think I care that much. Not enough to continue scribbling in my three Nielsen booklets. There are a few programs we watch: Local and National News, Jeopardy (usually), plus several current series (which are the ones we use the DVR to record). Mostly, however, we watch movies and/or documentaries from NetFlix, either on DVD or “streaming.” There just doesn’t seem to be as much glory in being a Nielsen family as there once was. (Oh, by the way, the company does not pay its rating families, although they did have the nerve to send a dollar bill in the envelope with the booklets. As a “sign of their appreciation,” they said.)

I hope you all have a simply splendid weekend!

Bud

From: Meridian, ID

It was a beautiful day, yesterday…and what better way to celebrate it than by spending a few hours at Geezer Beach, on the shores of Arrowrock Reservoir. I had to squeeze that time between my morning gym workout, and the afternoon lawn-mowing workout, but that was okay. To spend three hours (with two lines) fishing, and have only one fish to show for it at the end is what we fogies like to call, “Slow.” Or you also have, no doubt, heard us report, “Good fishin’…but poor catchin’.” Yesterday was that, for sure.

The one fish I caught (at about 11:30 AM) was a decent trout. Not all that long – at 13 – 14 inches – but “deep” and fairly heavy. He was strong, too.

I had gotten both lines in the water at about 10:30 in the morning. (I told you I had to spend a couple of hours in the gym.) So, catching a fish an hour later makes a bit of a quandary: Keep the fish (which will not live that long on a “stringer”), hoping to catch at least another two or three (enough to make a meal)…or cut the leader and let him go, assuming that because of a slow start it’s going to be unlikely I will catch another.

As you know, I’m sure, I’ve never been much for “catch and release” fishing, especially when the fish being released has not the slightest chance of helping to propagate another generation. (The planted Rainbow in the Pacific Northwest states are virtually all sterile “triploids.”) Also, even without attempting a “hook-ectomy,” when dealing with trout (ultra-sensitive wusses they are) the odds of survival for a released fish are long, at best.

Years ago, one could have considered giving away a fish he didn’t want to take home, for whatever reason. Oh, one can still think about doing it, but he must now take into consideration that it is illegal to do so…illegal for the giver and illegal for the receiver. I’ve never been quite sure of the rationale for this stipulation in the fishing laws. As long as the receiver counts such fish as part of his limit, what’s the problem, I wonder.

And, actually, a “slow start” does not necessarily mean slow-all-day. Many times if have caught nothing for an hour (or even two) and then, as if someone threw a switch somewhere, the fish begin biting like crazy. Just another reason not to release that first one too quickly, y’know?

Of course the fisherperson can just bring his one fish home and use it for fertilizer (they are good for that, I’m told). But that, too, would be illegal. (Unless one can successfully make the argument that using fish as fertilizer is not wasting the fish.)

One thing sure: Fishing (and hunting) has become rather a complicated endeavor. At least, if one wants to abide by all the rules of where, how, when, how many, how big, etc., etc.

So what did I decide regarding the one (dead) trout on my stringer. “Well…ah…er…an osprey got him, officer. It’s true…I have pictures to prove it.” (Or

the fellow fishing down the beach from me may have stolen it…I saw him “steal” three from the guy fishing on the other side of him.)

As usual, there are other things going on in addition to drinking beer and watching one’s bobber. Often, those “other things” involve birds. Since earlier in the year, I’ve been aware of two pairs of Canadian Geese that have been hanging around Geezer Beach. I had always assumed they had nests in the area, despite the fact I’d not seen them. They seem to be gone, now. At any rate, I saw none of them, yesterday. I did see a pair of Mallard ducks making the rounds, begging for “throw-me” snacks from fishermen. They, too, have been regular inhabitants of the beach area for a couple of months. Unlike the Canadians (which all look alike to me), I can tell, positively, that this is the same pair of ducks I’ve been seeing for weeks. Well, technically, I can only verify the hen, and that is because she has an injury to her left leg. Whether it is a birth defect, or caused by an injury/wound, I can’t say. Whichever, the result is that the leg is almost useless. When paddling, she seems to be able to move it slightly, but really only enough to make small burbles of water behind her on the left side. All of her forward motion appears to come from her right leg/foot. It is of some help to her while walking, as well. She seems to use it rather like a crutch; her gait is recognizable from quite a long way off. If you’re old enough to remember the TV show “The Real McCoys”, visualize Grampa McCoy’s (Walter Brennan) elbow-flapping walk…the lady duck’s is very similar, except she doesn’t flap her ‘arms’ as much. Her personality is about the same as other hen ducks I’ve seen. Which is to say, she is nearly always the first to snatch up a treat tossed nearby. Certainly in this case it’s not that she’s faster-moving than the drake, but rather because she seems less fearful of humans she is willing to get closer to them to pick up a tidbit. However, like any wild thing tempted to come closer to a potential source of danger, she can be startled by any unexpected movement. But when this little duck tries to change direction too quickly, her bad leg fails her and she winds up suddenly sitting down on the sand, instead of scurrying across it to safety. One really can’t help feeling sorry for her, but in truth she behaves like most humans with a “disability”…she (apparently) doesn’t let it bother her much.

 

The hills here in southwestern Idaho are truly coming alive, now. Many of the wildflowers are in bloom, and one of the most readily identified blooms is the Balsam Root. I took a couple of pictures on the way home from Arrowrock. (They are shown above.)

I haven’t yet been able to identify the last one above…a flowering bush also found alongside the road:

For the record, we have another pretty good day going. Perhaps spring really has sprung this time, unlike the false start of a couple of weeks ago.

I hope it’s a good day wherever you are, too.

Bud

 

 

From: Meridian, ID

First of all, I must profusely thank the weather gods for deciding to make Saturday (yesterday) a no-rain day! Oh, sure…it was a bit cool, what with a brisk breeze from the north and Old Sol going behind a cloud every few minutes, but all in all, it was a very nice day. Especially compared to what we knew it easily could have been!

The hours for the community sale were advertised to have been 8:00 AM to 3:00 PM, but as we expected, the professional garage sale people were out and about way before 8:00. We had them looking around (and asking questions) way before we even had all the stuff to sell out of the garage.

As planned, friend Kay and her son-in-law, Albert (from California), were here shortly after seven setting out the stuff Kay had brought to sell. Albert came into town a week ago to help Kay and Dave paint the outside of their house. (You may recall that I had gone over there a couple of weeks ago with my pressure washer…the first step of the painting preparation.) The painting was done in only three days. Wow!

We didn’t have many “big ticket” items to put out. The bigger of our two living room recliners was chosen to go. (Jan had tried to give the thing a good cleaning recently, and before she new it she had “cleaned” some of the color from the upper part of the chair. Maybe a bit off the arm rests, too. At any rate, when people asked me why we were selling it, I told them it had gotten “too clean.” There was absolutely nothing wrong with the mechanics of the chair, but once Jan showed me the spots where it was “too clean” that was all I could see. One of our first customers was fairly interested in it, but her offer was a number too far removed from our asking price. Had she made a reasonable offer, she could have had it…and I would have helped her load it in her truck. For free, too. As it was, it went home with someone else a couple of hours later. And at only $5 bucks less than I had quoted the first customer. (In the meantime, Jan had marked it $10 bucks higher than I had originally quoted, and then whacked $15 bucks from the marked price in order to “move it.”) Janet knows retail!

Another (relatively) major piece was an air compressor that has been sitting in the garage for several years. I bought it back when I was filthy rich (that’s a joke, son) from the DCSG advertising business. It was a pretty good-sized unit: 17 gallons, 150 PSI, 5 HP (peak). Shortly after I bought it, though, I bought a second unit to carry in our travel trailer (and later in our coach). Being much smaller – and thus easier to move around – it was the one I always reached for when I needed air pressure, even when we were not on the road, RV-ing it. Then, as often happens with “stuff” in the garage, more things got stored around the bigger unit, until if I had wanted to use it, I would have had to spend half the day moving other stuff out of the way. (That is, by the way, the very same reason the boat has not seen much use, lately.)

So I dragged the big compressor out and plugged it in (so that it could be demonstrated as being in good working condition). Sure enough, within an hour or so, a lone fellow spotted it and instantly made a beeline for it. I had not yet put on a price tag, so he had to ask what I wanted to get out of it. Naturally, it took me a couple of minutes to sing the praises of the machine and point out all its advantages, but eventually I said, “…about 40 bucks.” He stroked his chin casually for a few seconds and then asked, “What’s the lowest price you’ll take?” I waited a couple of seconds, as well, and then said, “Oh…about 40 bucks.” He then realized another older fellow was making his way to the area of the compressor and quickly said, “I’ll take it.” I can’t remember for sure what I paid for the thing at Home Depot 5 or 6 years ago, but it may have been in the neighborhood of $200, so I think the guy got a pretty good deal. A seller is always torn when something goes out the door for the asking price, isn’t he? He always thinks: Coulda, woulda, shoulda got more for the dang thing. Ah, well, I still have the compressor I’ve been using through the years, anyhow. I hope the guy gets some good use out of the one we sold him.

It was a long morning, I’ll tell you. Every so often we would have a busy period, with sometimes as many as 8 or 10 people in the “store,” and then we wouldn’t have any lookers at all for five or ten minutes. Eventually, Kay and Albert packed up most of their stuff and headed home. (They left a few larger items with us, on the hope some stragglers might but one or more. It didn’t happen.) Janet and I hung on for a while longer…not much more than an hour. We closed up at about 2:00 PM.

Before Kay left, a couple of the neighbor girls asked if they could set up a lemonade (berry punch, actually) stand on our sidewalk and “work the crowds” we were attracting. I asked Piper and Aleasha what my cut would be if I said, “Yes.” I was joking, of course, but thought it might throw them for a bit of a loop. Piper replied that they were raising money for research on heart disease, and did I really want to take a cut of money that was going for such a good cause. (She’s a clever little trollop!) I had to let them work my “crowds” for free! Blah! Janet bought a glass of the punch. She said it was so bad she couldn’t drink it…she watered the plants under our dining room window with it. Now we’re hoping the flowers don’t die.

As we were closing up the sale, Jan playfully put some price stickers on Bjorn, our 9-year old neighbor boy. Before you know it, most of the kids had price stickers all over their faces. Piper stuck on so many it appeared she was wearing a mask. Fun stuff.

At the end of the day, we figured we had taken in some $216 bucks. (I’m not sure how Kay did.) So I figure our wages for the seven hours we had into the sale (just counting yesterday) at about $15 bucks per hour. Each. I suppose that’s not so bad, considering we’re old, unskilled workers. It’s above minimum wage, surely. Nevertheless, it is not something I would be anxious to do many more times than once a year. And I’m not even sure about next year, at this point. Still, what we didn’t sell, we loaded up in Jan’s car and she drove it down to the Idaho Youth Ranch charity. So we have quite a bit more room in the garage (and elsewhere in the house) than we did beforehand. Plus, we have our first charitable donation to use as a deduction for taxes next year.

Earlier today – and a beautiful, sunny day it is, I should say – we took a drive to look at a few of the Parade of Homes houses in the Meridian area. I’m telling you, it’s a bit difficult to keep in mind the country is still hurting a bit, economically, when you’re looking at houses with price tags from $300,000 to nearly $700,000! And quite a few of them with “SOLD” signs proudly displayed! Doesn’t it make you just wonder? I mean, who is buying such houses? Sure, the interest rates are still low, low, low…but even so. Obviously, it isn’t a recession for everyone!

Oh, and before I get you wondering too much, we are not thinking of moving, and even if we were, we would not be looking anywhere near the price range mentioned above. But it’s interesting to get out now and then to see what’s new in the housing industry. This year, it seemed to be flooring. Every house we toured had hardwood floors…that’s been an “in” thing for some time, now. But I mean hardwood floors of any kind imaginable. One house even had ceramic tile that was made to look like hardwood! Very fancy stuff, all around. The last house we visited had a built in, climate controlled “wine cellar.” Except it was not a cellar…it was a small room (closet sized, more or less) right off the foyer, with built in racks for wine bottles. Sheesh! The master bath showers were all “walk ins,” i.e., no shower doors. (No…I now remember one of them did have a glass door.) Of course all counter tops, whether kitchen or bath or laundry room, were granite…or granite-like material. Beautiful!

We tired rather quickly, though, and gave it up after seeing five or six houses. We decided we like our own house best, anyhow. It’s paid for…almost.

The sun is still shining…soon it will be time to go for another drive. To the nearest Basking & Robbins ice cream store. (About a mile down the road.)

I hope you’ve all had a wonderful Sunday, no matter the weather where you live.  Live it up! Go get an ice cream cone!

Bud

From: Meridian, ID

Our southwestern Idaho weather so far this spring has been a bit too much like western Washington (and Oregon) weather. Which is to say, we’ve had too many cloudy, cool days…and a bit too much rain. And we have another one of the same going today. It’s not raining hard, mind you, and not constantly; but it is definitely gray enough to make me happy I don’t have an outside job! Of course being retired, I’m happy I don’t have an inside job, either, so I guess I should find a different analogy, shouldn’t I.

Being retired is a good thing, no question…I mean, a “good thing” as long as someone is paying you for not working. And, in my case, paying me pretty well. I can tell you for sure that retirement wouldn’t be all that wonderful if the only money coming in was a Social Security check. But that’s no surprise. In FDR’s wildest dreams, he never considered the Social Security plan to be a “retirement system”…I’m sure he thought of it more as a “safety net” for folks who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) plan ahead. Something that would ensure old people had some kind of income…something that would pay the bills that must be paid in order to keep a person off the “dole.”

I’ll tell you, also, that I am sincerely glad to be retired from what was my working career. I truly have never felt one iota of regret that I left when I did. But that’s not to say I haven’t thought about working at something since my retirement. These are the “what if” years…the time when we reflect on the decisions we made way back when. Maybe I should have tried Law School? Medical School? Perhaps I should have stayed in the Army, gone to OCS, and tried to make general? I think I would have liked being Indiana Jones, too.

Or, how about a career as a nature/wildlife photographer? Last night, Janet and I watched the first two hours (recorded previously) of the Frozen Planet series (on the Discovery Channel), and…Wow! What amazing pictures! While watching, I couldn’t help being distracted by the thoughts of, “How in the world did they get that shot?” “How long did they sit in a blind before getting those shots of the Arctic wolf pups, romping outside their icy den?” Now doing that sort of thing for a living has just got to be exciting. (More than a little dangerous, too, I suppose.) He didn’t appear on Frozen Planet, but the little green fellow in the photo was recently discovered as a living example of a hitherto unknown (and un-dreamed about) species of frog. His species has been dubbed – what else? – the Pinocchio Frog. I’m now hazy about the article I read, but I believe he was found somewhere in New Guinea, discovered by a National Geographic team camping in the rain forests.

Ah, well, the truth is the careers I did have were pretty interesting (and fun), as well. Ten years in U.S. Coast Guard Aviation, followed by (nearly) 30 years working for the Federal Aviation Administration in Air Traffic Control.

Friday afternoon, now: The weather is sucky again…or perhaps that should be “still.” Friends Dave and Kay stopped by this morning to drop off some stuff for the garage sale happening here tomorrow. (Kay will be back in the morning to help us “sit the sale.”) I don’t know what we’ll do if we have rain like we’ve had several times already this day. I guess the only real option is to set the stuff up inside the garage, although we really don’t care much for that. Part of our discomfort with it is the suspicion that some of the shoppers might just take the opportunity to “case the joint” in preparation for a nighttime visit at some later date. As much as we’d like to think otherwise, we’ve learned from the newspapers that there are, indeed, a few burglars in Idaho. We’re not asking for sunny and warm (necessarily)…but a no-rain morning would be very nice.

When I went to the athletic club yesterday morning, I discovered that none of the television sets on the treadmills were working. Amazingly, I was able to do my 5 miles, anyhow, but it was excruciating. The TV makes it easy to “zone out” of what’s going on with my legs, and I can walk (and sweat) quite a long time. A long time for me, anyhow…I do about an hour and a half. Physically, I could go for much longer, I’m pretty sure, but I have this feeling that I’m already spending too much time in the building.

As to whether the gym is doing me any good, I would have to say, “Yes.” But it is such a slooowww process…discouraging at times. I have to keep reminding myself that there has been progress…good progress. For example, when I started the morning gym routine last October, I could not tie my shoelaces without holding my breath. My “beer belly” is still very much in evidence, but at least I can put on my socks and tie my shoes like a normal person. Tah Dah! And I have lost weight. Not much, but some. And, possibly most important of all, my blood pressure and heart rate are now routinely in the “healthy” range.

I won’t be going to the gym tomorrow morning. As it happened, my normal routine of 3 days gym, 1 day off worked out so that this Saturday was a day off this week. Of course even if it had not worked out that way, I would have skipped the gym in favor of helping get the garage sale set up. (Yes, I really would have, Janet.)

I hope it’s been a good day for you.

Bud

 

From: Meridian, ID

Yesterday and today have been rather cool (currently 62 degrees), but pretty nice just the same. Certainly nice enough, yesterday, to do some outside work, like mowing the lawn. I also got out the pressure washer and did a wash job on the house. You don’t have to know me all that well to figure I didn’t think of that chore on my own…it showed up on a “to do” list. Ah, well, once a fella stays home to mow the grass (instead of going fishing), he might just as well get another job out of the way while he’s at it.

I also tried to clean up some of the dad-blasted Chinese Elm seeds that show up this time of year…and I did, I did pick up a LOT of them from the porch and driveway. Unfortunately, if there is any breeze at all, it is a thankless and futile business to sweep or vacuum or hose them away, since each one that is removed will quickly be replaced by two more. Why is it that the undesirable plants are the ones that have evolved to be so successful? Why is it that a single Chinese Elm tree sends off enough seeds every year to cover the earth in elm trees? Dandelions: ditto! So far as I can tell, every single elm seed germinates. Every one will become a tree…unless some person or animal intervenes. (I’ve seen them sprout on concrete! No joke.) Lord knows how many elm trees would be in our lawn if we didn’t mow it fairly often. Janet finds the little trees all the time in her flowerbeds. If I were in politics, I would make sure we had no friendly relations with the People’s Republic of China unless and until they paid reparations for sending their damnable elm trees to North America!

Janet worked in the garage most of the day, putting price stickers on the items she has been laying aside for the annual garage sale. Every year, our Homeowners Association helps advertise a subdivision garage sale, and every time we manage to get rid of some “junk” (my term…others may call the stuff “treasures”), but never all of it. So the leftovers from last year’s sale become the seed junk for this year’s extravaganza. And so it goes…half of the items in our garage at any given moment are either waiting for the upcoming sale, or left over from the last one. Or both. Truth is, I kind of enjoy the actual sale, joking with potential customers and all. Especially if the weather is decent. Which, unfortunately, our weathermen are predicting against. Rain is very likely for Saturday, they all say. On top of that, Saturday is also forecast to be a holiday: Cinco de Mayo. Will that have an impact on the garage sale? Who knows? Historically, we do have quite a number of Hispanic-looking people come around, but would the fact of Cinco de Mayo keep them away from the sales? It doesn’t seem so to me. (But I have to remind myself that I was, after all, wrong on a previous occasion. February 17, 1963, I believe it was. Oh No! I could be wrong about that!)

I can’t think of any “big ticket” items we’re putting out this year. From what I could tell, everything Jan put a sticker on was less than five bucks, and the majority of them are marked at a dollar or less.

I finished reading another of my Christmas present books the other day. It was a biography of James Madison, fourth president of the United States and co-founder (with Thomas Jefferson) of what was then called the Republican party. The opposition in those days was called the Federalist party. Strangely enough, Madison’s Republican party later changed its name…today the call themselves Democrats. I find that stranger still, considering that both Jefferson and Madison detested the prospect of a huge central government. In those days it was the Federalists who believed in a large (and powerful) central government. John Adams (2^nd President) was a Federalist; George Washington shared most Federalist beliefs, but was never identified as belonging to that party, or any party.

Abraham Lincoln had been a member of the Whig party during his early political years, but was elected president when he became the first candidate nominated by the new Republican party. Very confusing.

Nevertheless, I must admit that I enjoy history. And the more I learn of America’s early years…and the men who fashioned the country, the more I am amazed it actually happened that we became a nation. The only common ground – really – among the original colonies was the knowledge that unification was the best defense against the world powers of the day. The most likely outcome of the Revolutionary War (were it not for that perceived need for a strong national defense) was the formation of two or more separate nations, each consisting of colonies with closely shared interests and/or problems. Obviously, that didn’t happen. We did become one nation, barely. But even during Madison’s time as president, with the memory of that Revolution business still fresh, the internal strife over the War of 1812 brought the New England states to the brink of secession from the union.

When, fifty years later, secession of the southern states actually happened, the Confederacy was not the only section of the country that considered it. Several Midwestern states thought about the possibility, as well.

I’m guessing that the likelihood of the United States splintering into separate, smaller nations at this point is quite a long shot. We do, after all, still need a strong defense. Those East coast (and West coast) pointy-headed liberals do annoy me a LOT, though.

I hope you’re having a swell day!

Bud

From: Meridian, ID

(Note: Click on photographs to view a larger image.)

We’ve been having a bit of a “mixed bag” of weather, lately. Today is mostly gray and drizzly – and cooler – while yesterday was quite nice. The sun was out most of the day, but accompanied by a breeze that managed to keep the temperature lower than it might otherwise have been. We both worked outside for part of the day…Jan in her flowerbeds and I with my electric pruning clipper. I cut back the bush (bayberry, I believe) by Janet’s side of the garage, and also several bushes in the back yard. Turns out I probably should have mowed the grass, as well, but I convinced myself it could easily wait until today. Now, of course, the rain (light as it is) has made the lawn too wet to mow. At least too wet to mow easily. What a shame!

After the yard work, we took some time in the afternoon to drive out to Lucky Peak Dam for the annual Rooster Tail Show. Lucky Peak is an earthen dam, the purpose of which is a combination of flood control, irrigation, and – since 1988 – power generation. (The dam, itself, was constructed in 1954.) Irrigation water is not taken directly from the reservoir, but from the original “diversion dam” about five miles downstream of Lucky Peak, and completed in 1908. In the picture, the irrigation canal is on the far side of the river.

During the ‘spring runoff’ from the mountains, generally occurring in May, water management for the Lucky Peak and Arrowrock reservoirs becomes quite critical for flood control downstream of the dams. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, the Bureau of Reclamation, and the Boise River Watermaster together manage the flow through Lucky Peak to maintain flood storage space and irrigation needs throughout southwest Idaho. The key, as I understand it, is basically to release enough water so that there is room in both reservoirs to catch the snow melt, and also to make sure enough water is saved so that it will be available for irrigation throughout the summer (and actually into the Fall).

The “Rooster Tail” appears when the experts have decided they can’t release enough water through the powerhouse at Lucky Peak. The route for the additional flow is a pipe (about six feet in diameter) that bypasses the powerhouse and discharges into the river below. The reason this excess flow is diverted into the air (instead of being pointed directly into the river) is to avoid the erosion of the riverbed that would occur if such a powerful stream were aimed directly into the river.

I expected there would be a few people doing the same thing as Jan and I, i.e., using the Rooster Tail as an excuse for a nice drive on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. I was certainly correct in that expectation. In spades! There were hundreds of cars in the vicinity of the dam! The folks in charge had set up a route for gawkers in cars to follow. (A good thing…without some such plan I’m sure it would have been absolute gridlock!) The route took us across the dam and down a gravel access road on the east side of the river, past the powerhouse, past the picnic area, beach, and swimming pond immediately below the rock face of the dam, and then back on to the highway. Once we got in line on the gravel access road, it took us about 35 minutes to complete the route. While in line, we saw that some people had walked to a spot very close to the discharge pipe, but neither of us could see how they got there. (If we had, we might well have done that, ourselves…it must have been quite awesome to stand so close to such a display of raw power.)

But it was impressive enough from the safety of our truck, I must say. Again, I was rather surprised at the number of people the event drew. I actually didn’t see all that many license plates – mostly just the one on the Cadillac in front of me – but the ones I saw were all from Idaho. That figures, I suppose. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing that will draw tourists from across the country, is it? I actually thought I’d seen the overflow discharge many times, previously. There are a pair of huge pipes a short distance from the powerhouse that have water coming out much more often than just during this one period in the spring. All these years, I assumed this discharge was the famous “Rooster Tail.” Never mind that it didn’t shoot up into the air…a little exaggeration on the part of local “boosters” is to be expected, no? As soon as we laid eyes on it, I knew I had not seen it before on my many trips back and forth to the fishing grounds of Lucky Peak and Arrowrock Reservoirs. Fun stuff!

Fun, that is, except for the sort of creepy feeling of being stuck in a line of slow-moving traffic at the bottom of a pile of rocks holding back a gazillion gallons of water! Such spots are bad enough (for the imaginative mind) when the road is clear ahead, as if we grasp the idea of outrunning the wall of water resulting from a catastrophic failure of the dam. (An idea that is, obviously, absolute nonsense.) But when one can only move at a snail’s pace – at best! – the situation seems much worse.

Hey…don’t think it doesn’t happen! U.S. History is full of dam failures that have wiped out entire towns and killed hundreds of people. I could never live in a house directly below a dam. I don’t think I could even work in such a place…not steadily, not day in and day out. I can visit, and do so even without getting sweaty palms. But I couldn’t spend many hours – let alone days and weeks…or years – in the shadow of sudden disaster!

And speaking of getting that woozy, wiggly feeling, I learned the other day (in the Sunday Parade magazine) that the Citibank commercial showing the young couple climbing a spire in Utah is real! I mean “real” in the sense that the two maniacs (there is no other name for them) are real, honest-to-goodness rock climbers. Katie Brown and Alex Honnold are, in the vernacular, “free climbers.” (They agreed to use ropes while filming the commercial.) Ms Brown spent a couple of hours on top of the rock to allow for the photography. I’m telling you, I’m getting to the point where I don’t even need the video to make me sick to my stomach…just thinking about it (like right now) can almost do it, too. Uff Dah! These folks are free to do this, while the government makes me wear a seatbelt while driving? Oh, my!

I hope you all had a great weekend and here’s to an excellent week ahead of us, eh.

Bud

To view more pictures of the trip, click: Lucky Peak Rooster Tail photos.

From: Meridian, ID

One of the few “life principles” I truly attempt to live by is the one about the futility of worrying about things over which you exercise no control whatsoever. And yet by the time Janet and I arrived at the clinic where I was to have my endoscopy, I realized that I had got myself in quite a “state.” When a nurse took my blood pressure, I was shocked to see that the reading was 180 over 84! I usually tend to display what is called White Coat Hypertension (WCH) even on the best of visits to a doctor’s office (it is a recognized phenomenon…look it up), but with the fear of what the doc was going to find adding to my WCH, that systolic reading was, perhaps, not surprising. Although on at least one blood pressure chart hypertension crisis is defined as beginning at the number 180, the nurse didn’t seem to be overly concerned with it, so I tried not to be, as well. The second number – diastolic – was a bit higher than my usual reading, too, but on the same chart mentioned above, it falls only into the range of “pre-hypertension.” Not a “crisis.”

The young lady then found a vein into which she could poke a needle for the clear bag of liquid hanging at the foot of my bed. As she opened the valve I asked how long it would take before I fell asleep. She said, “Oh, quite a while, yet. That’s just some saline solution…not the sedation stuff. We want you clear-headed when the doctor comes in to talk to you.” I suppose I must have looked like I was low on salt, eh?

Then I was left alone in my cubicle. (For what seemed like, oh, five or six hours.) I used the time to conjure up even more demons that were about to be found partying in my esophagus and/or stomach. After all, something had to be causing the hoarseness that had driven me to see a doctor about it more than a year ago. And neither the PA nor the MD in the EENT clinic had found any problem when looking as far down as my larynx.

Obviously, I thought, I have cancer down there. The only question now is, after he finds the tumor(s), how long the doctor will say I have left to live. I know how it goes; I’ve seen it happen to others all my life. An otherwise healthy guy notices a rash on his thigh. At his annual physical the next week, he mentions the rash to his doctor. Next thing he knows, the doctor has diagnosed an advanced case of the Black Plague!

The question is: Would it have been Black Plague if the doctor hadn’t tested it? Many people say, “Of course it would have! That’s a completely illogical question!” And I know that, too. I’m an educated person…well, semi-educated, anyhow. I live in the modern, science-based world. But I’m not that far removed from generations before me, people for whom superstition and fear of the unknown were factors every bit as powerful as scientific cause and effect. And those people tell me: “Let sleeping dogs lie, boy!” “Don’t call the devil by his name!” “It’s just a little rasp in your voice, sissy. No one needs to see a doctor for such a picayune thing…it will go away by itself.”

The doctor and another nurse came in, eventually. He started the conversation by mentioning he had done a colonoscopy on my back in 2000. Surely he learned that from clinic files…no one who does as many colonoscopies as he does could remember one a__hole from ten thousand others over a twelve-year period. I certainly didn’t remember him, but he did seem a nice fellow, with an air of confidence. Soon, the nurse shot the sleeping potion into my saline tube and then my bed was wheeled down the hall to a different room.

I have but a faint recollection of a hose-like device in the doctor’s hands (it looked the size of a garden hose, I believe). I remember asking the nurse, beforehand, if the tube would go down my nose or through my mouth. She told me the mouth, but I can’t honestly say I remember anything after seeing the instrument in the doctor’s hands.

As the cliché goes…the next thing I remember (and that, not very well) was Janet coming into the “recovery room” with one of the nurses. She said I jabbered away like a whippoorwill in a windstorm, and made about as much sense. The doctor, too, came in and gave us a “wrap up” of the procedure. I recall nothing of that, but Janet took good mental notes and was able to fill me in later.

Then the nurse and Jan assisted me out of the building to where Jan had been told to park the car. I was not put in a wheelchair for this short trip, which I thought was a bit strange. Jan says perhaps the purpose was for the nurse to see just how far along I had come awake. Sounds good, I guess.

Not having had anything to eat since the night before, and nothing to drink since 10:00 AM (it was about 4:00 PM as we left the clinic), I was kind of hungry. Jan hadn’t eaten much of anything, either, so we stopped at Panda Express on the way home. Now that I can remember: Orange Chicken, Chicken with green beans, and Chow Mein. And I slicked my plate!

So it was a hazy, stressful day, for the most part…but with a happy ending. I definitely feel like a wuss for letting myself get so worked up about it beforehand, but now I feel good that I went ahead with the procedure. I may even agree to go through it again, someday…in say, ten years or so. In the meantime, Doc, I have this hoarseness in my voice from time to time. Got any ideas…

I hope you have a super day.

Bud

From: Meridian, ID

Tomorrow is my day to have an endoscopy (also called an EGD, or Esophagogastroduodenoscopy). It is, by all accounts, a safe and routine procedure, rather similar to a colonoscopy, but beginning at the opposite end of the body. A quick look-see online tells me that the average cost of the procedure around the nation is in the neighborhood of $2,700.00, with the high end of $3,400.00 found in Los Angeles. I don’t yet know what this Boise clinic charges, but I’m sure it must be something around that “ballpark.” I’m actually surprised to learn the average was not much, much more…I would have guessed more like $10 grand.

Thankfully, I’m not paying for it. (I doubt I would be having it done if I were.) I’m assuming Medicare will pick up most of the tab (if not all of it), with Federal Blue Cross shelling out whatever might be left after Medicare pays its “limit.”

I mentioned this thing a couple of weeks ago after I had an office call with the EENT doctor at the clinic Janet and I use. The Physician’s Assistant I had been seeing over the course of a year had left the clinic, just after referring me to a different clinic for this procedure. The MD I saw at my most recent appointment knew nothing about the referral (supposedly), and when I asked if he would personally suggest it, he replied that it was essentially up to me whether or not to follow the recommendation of the PA…the fellow who no longer worked in that office.

Being naturally a bit leery of all things medical, my inclination was to cancel the appointment. I’m not all that enthusiastic about having a camera pushed down my esophagus, after all. But then I figured, “What the heck? Something is causing this long-term hoarseness…why not see what the camera can discover?” Especially since my insurance will pay for it, anyway. (If not 100 percent, then at least most of it.)

I suppose it’s kind of silly of me to even worry about the cost of medical care that is covered by insurance. That’s why we – most of us, anyhow – buy insurance, i.e., to have access to financial help when these larger expenses come along. Despite what many folks would have us believe, Medicare is not a true “entitlement” program. We’ve been paying for it during most of our working lives, and we make monthly payments, still and forever. Of course medical care – whether it is called Medicare, Medicaid, or simple charity – is an entitlement for those receiving it who are not (and never have been) required to pay a dime. And I’m told there are a LOT of those folks. How in the world have we come to such a place? All I know is that I don’t know…and it makes no difference that I don’t know!

I took some time, yesterday, to fill out the various forms I’m supposed to bring to my appointment. It took between 30 and 40 minutes. Wow! They did not ask if I was a happy baby, but they did ask about nearly everything else! I understand that I will not be under a general anesthetic, but only rather heavily sedated…and the information brochure stressed the fact I must bring someone with me who will be able to drive me home. Janet said that she will be my driver.

This evening, the first round of the NFL Draft is to be televised. Some of the local sports writers think one or two of our BSU seniors from last year have a chance to be selected tonight. Shea McClellin, who played defensive end for BSU, is likely to be picked for an outside linebacker spot; Doug Martin, a running back, is thought to have an outside chance as a first-round pick, but more likely in round 2 or 3. Our quarterback, Kellen Moore (idolized by most BSU fans) may not be selected at all (due to his lack of size, and lack of “mobility”), and, in any event, will probably not be chosen in an early round. I would think that good football “sense,” and proven passing accuracy should count for quite a lot in the NFL, but evidently that’s not the case. It might be that Moore will wind up playing in the Canadian Football League, eh? Hey, we’ll just have to wait and see, I reckon. I doubt Jan and I will be watching the doings on TV…it’s a bit too much like a “reality show.” Much easier to just read about it in tomorrow morning’s newspaper.

I’ve never been one to identify with a particular sports team, be it a school or a pro team. In fact, it has generally struck me as odd that anyone would. (And yet, the fact that millions of people do just that is probably the very reason sport is such incredibly big business in America.) I suspect my learning to keep an emotional “distance” from a team’s win/loss record may be rooted in the fact that during my three years playing high school football (at two different schools), I was never on a team that won a game! If there is a cliché that truly rubs me the wrong way it is the one that goes: “Winning isn’t everything.” For me and my highschool mates, it was never anything.

So it was in spite of that history I slowly but surely dared to be a BSU fan. Even so, just living near the school would not have done it…not if the team hadn’t been winning! But living close to a school with a winning team, especially a team seemingly made up of such nice young guys…well, who wouldn’t be a fan of such a team. And I truly do hope our guys go on to do well in the NFL; they played hard for glory here, it’s time they had a chance to play for money. And if a little of the glory continues, well, that would be nice, too.

I hope the day is going well for you. Stay tuned for a report on tomorrow’s gullet gazing.

Bud