JOE NO SAY

Well….it’s another beautiful day in paradise at the ol’ ranch. That is…if you consider 100 degrees Fahrenheit as being beautiful. It was 105 degrees a few days ago so the two of us ranchers have voted to be thankful for it only being a mere 100 degrees.

Things are “moving along” as we say in the local vernacular. Business is booming and we are blessed. For now the computer business is recession proof. In a few more years there will be fewer and fewer desktops because everything will be headed to the “CLOUD”. That means that everyone will simply store their data, pictures, and info, on remote servers “out there” somewhere in the “CLOUD” (i.e. on the Internet rather than locally on a desktop or laptop). At that time I will be reckoned as being the village blacksmith (which I suppose is much to be preferred than being referred to as the village idiot).

I’m working on “options” not the least of which is picking up my instructor’s rating since airplanes are not likely to become obsolete any time soon. I can't really earn a complete living as an instructor but I can probably rustle up some beans and rice. The old saying is that, "To make a small fortune as a flight instructor, you must start with a large one". Sheese...maybe I should just invest in gold or green cheese.

I just ordered some study materials for my instrument rating. "Ol' Studyin'  Ran" they call him. I passed this same test in '99 but the certificate is only good for a couple of years. There certainly have been some changes including those concerning GPS navigation. The challenge will be to get the same or better score. I got a 98%  last time (I missed one) so I'm shooting for 100% on this go around! I also handily passed the commercial written test (96%) shortly prior to the instrument written so will likewise have another challenge this time.

If I can swing it, there are some inventions and books that I am trying to get patented and copy written so that we may even…retire (what an amazing concept!). That would leave us free to pursue avenues of interest like traveling all over the country to knock over thousands of yard sales in every state! Man! What an achievement!

That also means that we need to add an airplane to our inventory of vehicles, too. I don’t mean to complain but, there are certain destinations that we are familiar enough with and just don’t need to take in the sights as we drive. The point is that, despite my love for driving, I’m finding that flying is much to be preferred at times. There’s no getting around the fact that traveling at 175 mph in an airplane is going to get you to church much faster than traveling by automobile.

We have been to Texas and Oklahoma on numerous occasions. There’s not much I want to see on the ground on the way there. In fact, the scenery on both I-10 and I-40 is rather dreary. In 1999 I drove my daughter to my son, Jeff’s, wedding in Abilene. She had yet to be that far out in to the southwest. Her comment was, “We’ve been driving for two days and the scenery hasn’t changed at all!”. Yep. That’s it in a nutshell. For such occasions, we need a nice fast airplane. We can get there, have fun, and be back in time to go to work.

We are thankful of a couple of things here at the summertime ranch. One is that we are not in Phoenix, AZ where the temp just broke a record. At 118 degrees in Phoenix, I’m thinking that lots of other things got broken! Like…the record for the shortest time to flee from the house to the pool or nearest lake! I can imagine that Theodore Roosevelt Lake is likely to be almost half its size now because of its water being hauled off by swimmers’ trunks and shorts.

I was in Phoenix several years ago in March when I was driving a car hauler with my cousin, Ross Sanders. It was above 90 degrees at the time when we were loading cars. I leaned up against the chrome trim on one of the cars and was all but branded! I can’t imagine what it would be like to work in such an inferno! Can't you just see something going down (with a car hauler) like, "Hey, dude! I love those Chinese tats". "Yeah. I got those from the chrome trim of an '09 Toyota the last time I was in Phoenix".

To celebrate the 4^th of July we decidedly did not attend the local fireworks display hosted by the Tule Indian Reservation. They, as the owners and operators of the local cash cow casino, now host just about everything in Porterville but the Elks Lodge meetings. In any event, I’m too old to go watch fireworks and cook in my own grease in the blistering heat. I’ve been there and done that many times and have sworn off.

In fact, I grew up with explosive fireworks. That was in the days when we were still under the Constitution and not regulated to death (for our own protection, don’tcha know). I have to admit to blowing up a number of horny toads while living in Rawlins, WY. Yeah, I know. I suppose it was a bit lacking in concern for the local environment. But, a ten year old kid really isn’t paying much attention to the EPA. In fact, this 62 year old kid still isn’t paying much attention to those idiots.

As a kid, I had access to “Black Cat’s”, “Lady Fingers” (sort of a little flat-red “micro explosive” that would certainly make your fingers tingle if it went off in your hand….guess how I know this fact?), and the mighty “Cherry Bombs” and “M-80’s”. Ah, yes, “Cherry Bombs” and “M-80’s”. 

Now to the soul of the explosives matter: it is difficult to explain the thrill of hearing a “Cherry Bomb” or “M-80” (equivalent to approximately ¼ stick of dynamite!) going off (keeping in mind that we’re still talking in reference to a dumb ten year old who is still in the life-long process of destroying his ability to hear things with both ears by using guns, airplanes, rock music, heavy equipment - earth movers, and sirens). The report is wonderful! It almost deafens you as it atomizes its target. The blast must have surely un-nerved grandparents in the neighborhood. All while the kids howled with glee as they demolished things for the modest price of a “Cherry Bomb” (which was about 25 cents each as I recall).

I and a few friends were in possession of a handful of said “Cherry Bombs” (named because they were round and red but they were much larger than a cherry) and, of course, they simply had to be detonated. It was our responsibility, after all, to employ our patriotism for the 4^th (blowing up things seems to be part of our American culture, for some reason). Our “victim” was a used quart oil can (that would be the old ones made of paper cylinders and with metal ends) found nearby at a local gas station. We lit the bomb and shoved it into the oil can’s open hole and then tossed it into an open dirt lot. We would have run for cover but there wasn’t any cover to be found. In a few moments I was quick to determine that I was unprepared to defend myself against the laws of physics. The bomb dutifully exploded and when it did, it flattened the oil can like it had been sent to the cleaners for pressing. That was the funny part. The un-funny part was that the ends blew off at slightly subsonic speeds and were much like razor-like Frisbees. In three-fifths of a second we all knew what that meant.

One of the local young demolition crew members (whose name but not face escapes me) was hit in the temple region of his noggin before any of us even knew what happened. The oil can lid had grazed the side of his head and left an ever-so-slight incision on his skin. It was obvious that his grandmother must have been praying for him since the lid could easily have impacted a couple of inches inward and could have sent him to the hospital for a bundle of stitches. My lightning-fast mind took note that we needed to find something else less hazardous to blow up.   

The barn is just about finished. The powered roll up door will be installed sometime next week (the barn was supposed to be finished last April…uh…May…uh…June). That’ll be nice. We have the side door installed and ready. With the installation of the 16’ roll up door, we can then be able to securely lock in and protect the field mice, snakes, snails, and spiders.

We’ve already started parking stuff up in the loft. My rod and reel collection has been tidily stowed on some of the trusses. Connie and I installed a bunch of hooks that now hold the rods and reels horizontally in a vertical row of 5 each. The next set of 5 is lateral to the previous set and so on for four rows so far. We've actually run out of room so I'll have to get creative to mount the other fifteen or so rigs. There’s more to come but I still need to overhaul more of the equipment. All I need is a day off to attend to it. *Sigh*.

In all of our building, we managed to have a new dog house built for Mighty Maggie the Wonder Dog. We named her that because she is mighty when it comes to sleeping and eating and we wonder if she will ever be a good guard dog. I want to say that there aren’t many cases of burglars being deterred by dog slobber.

In any event, we had the contractor build our sweet Maggie love dog, fearful of nothing other than if it moves or breathes and is bigger than a bee, a lovely new dog house. Now, it isn’t that we weren’t thankful for the old doggy house. It was a “freebie” and a blessing that kept Maggie the dog-asaur in out of the winter weather. However, it was in extreme need of an overhaul. The roof was never actually installed correctly and it did sag a bit in the middle. And, it wasn’t painted and was rather drab.

The new one, on the other hand, is sided with the same siding as the house and is trimmed in the same white trim! How neat is that?! It’s a real beauty! Since Maggie’s house is the same color and trim as the main house, we decided to call the new doggy digs, “Maggie’s Mansion”. It has been our concern, though, that Maggie may let all of this spoiling go to her furry head. We can already hear her petitioning for a swamp cooler.

“So, Randy, when are you going to get to the explanation of this month’s title?”. Oh, that. Yeah, well….you see….I really wanted to use this blogsite for personal use and the other ones for ranting and raving and making political statements. However, it has occurred to me that you sometimes can’t separate the two. Sooooo….let me elaborate.

Surely just about everyone knows that Ol’ Ran pumps red, white, and blue and is a strong Constitutionalist. He believes that Americans should be preferred over legal and illegal aliens. He believes that “our guys” should be given the first chance at employment and such. Apparently few others (in leadership and government, that is) believe this. In fact, there are fewer and fewer Americans being employed in this area. Almost all of them are aliens (and far too many are illegal).

Continuing….our barn, dog house, patio cover, the concrete work, water tank covering (to protect the new water tank), and our entire house exterior was painted by Mexicans most of whom had thick accents and some didn't speak English at all. I didn’t have a choice in the matter and was almost livid when the place was over run by Mexican workers. The contractor was an American. I asked the contractor, a good friend, why the entire crew was Mexicans. He basically said that, “The white guys are lazy and unreliable”. I didn’t know whether to throw up or cry. I did neither.

The only construction person I knew was the man who built the pad for the barn and who configured the ¾” rock for the driveway. I had seen his work and knew he was good at what he did. He was also a local guy and one of my computer clients. I insisted that he have the job.

So, for the interpretation: “Joe No Say” is actually the Americanized version of, “Yo no se” (Spanish for “I don’t know”). In some parts of the Spanish speaking world “yo” is pronounced with the more hardened sound, “jo”. It gives a bit of literary license to those who think themselves to be creative.

Well….there you have it. Why was all of the building and painting done by Mexicans though my deepest desire was to employ fellow Americans? Joe No Say…. I Just Don’t Know. As with much of politics, it was all shoved down my throat.