So, I took a Canon camera, a Flip camera and my iphone to Iowa for the 2015 VanceFest, and what did I do? Sort of forget to take pictures. A bit of time ago, I posted a picture of two brothers – Der Bingle and LZP. They are sort of the, one might say quirky, possibly almost crazy brothers. I had that picture because I had them pose for it as we were leaving.

Thinking back about photos, I thought, “Well, this is a fine pickle I’ve gotten myself into . . .”
So from the few quick iphotos, I am cropping three views of a third brother, Rod. He doesn’t have a nickname like LZP or Der Bingle or (applicable to both) Old Kook. He is “the competent one.” LZP once referred to having Rod getting something done and watching as he – and here I’m quoting LZP – “took a drill and went zip, zip, zip and then a couple of other fast things . . . and it was done.” He is also quite possibly the best-looking and best-natured. That last part is convenient today because I had to do some serious cropping to get photo views of him.

Now, this one where Rod was sitting right next to me, I had to crop out my finger and Der Bingle’s hand on the left . . . and I guess he probably wouldn’t have chosen an armpit pose, but I’m going to call it “relaxed and candid.”

When I mentioned being in a pickle, I was reminded of the canapes Rod’s wife, Kathy, fixed. I could have eaten the entire container. She grows her own pickles (bush pickles – although I am only repeating what I heard and have no idea of what that means – other than the part that seems obvious) and then spreads cream cheese on lunch meat and wraps it around the pickle. After chilling them, she slices them into pinwheels.

Although I pay more attention to grammar than a good number of people – it is sort of my mind’s math – I must admit I have not really given any attention to the correct usage of “owing to” and “due to.” I came across a snide remark in a book about people who don’t recognize the difference and, with my eyes shifting from left to right and back and forth again, I wondered, “Gosh, has anyone really noticed that about me?”

Although after 66 years, I don’t suppose it makes much difference, but then if I want to be referred to in my obituary as a life-long learner, it behooved me to investigate. Do you know that people can get very picky and petty and outright nasty in forums concerning grammar? Well, I am not going to link to any of them, except to “Dave’s snit was due to GrammarGirl’s response.”

It is one of those little topics that seems quite clear when you are reading the explanations and then looking at examples, but once you get out into real life, you start second-guessing what you supposedly understood. Kind of like, “Uh, is the red wire positive or negative?” I personally think the latter is confusing because red is associated with “NO” and the wife of every Air Force crew member trainee learns that one does not answer “No,” but instead utters, “Negative.”

I probably could just keep typing into the next day, wandering from story to story, but owing to my craving for a snack, I will just stop. Right here. See, I’m stopped.

I am not bacteriologically filthy, at least as far as plague-like diseases are concerned. I do have a lot of dried sweat on me and real dirt – the kind that comes from the earth and you can go things in. Probably some dust, also, and maybe remnants of a spider web. Yes, I let all this happen to me . . . and stay. Now I have to decide whether to clean up and thereby render myself not really inclined to refilth myself by doing some work around here or not.

The benefits of the getting clean are enticing – no dirty work today, some reading, that clean feeling, and guilt. On the other hand, I could just get to it and go to bed tonight knowing I had improved my lot and I would be able to put off handling that soap and water stuff. Not that I don’t like soap; I practically worship it. However, it is such a chore to get undressed, to get wet, to get dry, to get dressed, to take your dirty stuff to the laundry room and then realize, “Oh, I ought to empty the washer and start a load.”

Time for a daydream:

I have so much money I can send out for emergency workers on a Sunday to first, empty out my house, then remodel and repair, then move in new furniture, then pack and inventory all the knick-knacks. Well, to be truthful, the first thing they would do would be to put me on a Lear jet to a wonderful resort area with Spa people waiting on the tarmac with a Hummer to whisk me away to a personal cleaning process that requires me to do nothing except breathe and talk. I no doubt would have to pay extra to be allowed to talk, but that is almost the story of my life, and the first premise was that I had SO MUCH MONEY.

Wait, I think I’m going to modify the plan: I get whisked away to a spa and then to a brand new big house where everyone waits to be blessed with an assignment from moi. Organize those photos, refinish that antique furniture, get me a glass of iced tea. It’s the little things, dontcha know? Oh, and some of those cucumber canapes.

Well, I did it; I took my shovel and went into possibly snake-occupied territory and dug up a big fern. Fortunately, the rain I have been cursing for making the grass grow a whole big lot, has softened the earth and it was not a hard dig. The intertwining roots of the surrounding myrtle didn’t help, though. But, anyway, I got it out and in a bucket. And then I drove off and left the bucket. BUT, just as I passed the front of the house, I realized a giant fern was not seatbelted into the car; so I turned back.

After trying to calculate how much sun this fern got at Mother’s, I decided on a spot under a tree and near the corner of the six-foot fence. The soil is fairly good there since years ago I dumped some good dirt there, thinking that I would plant stuff. HA. Well, at least Fern is there now.

Yes, I have named her Fern, because I got tired of saying “the fern.” Subconsciously, I am probably thinking that if I think of her as Fern, maybe I will take better care of her. I am going to wait to see how she comes along before I dig up more Mother ferns. Now I am wondering, would they need names? Rose is taken, you know; but, of course, that’s silly because Rose isn’t a fern . . . even though a rose by any other name . . .

I’m not mowing this morning because it is too wet. Not complaining here, because a couple of summers ago, I opened the door every morning to really hot (by Indiana standards) temperatures. The kind where you open the door and then close it. It was real good sweating weather.

I may or may not attempt to transplant some ferns from LaGrange to this place. Yes, my life is that dull, which given my level of motivation is not all that bad.

Some people might remember my becoming upset with someone and making a bold statement. Well, it was this:

I said, “Lose weight? I’ll show you lose weight.” I went off and weighed myself and came back and blurted, “Twenty pounds off by my birthday.” And my face was all scrunched up in that really pissed off, determined look of death that I have been known to sport on occasion. This may turn out to be a real trial – either I eat very little or I eat crow.

Only know I have gone from doing really well to falling into the well of recidivism. Rats

The Great Dane who was not Hamlet was at our little VanceFest this past week. First of all, she is a she and, second, she is one year old and comes to between my elbow and shoulder when she is just standing on her four feet – forget about jumping up height. She doesn’t jump up, though; she is very gentle . . . and very curious. She rode down from North Dakota (one hour from the Canadian border) to North Liberty, Iowa and stayed awake the entire time, scoping out the passing landscape. Great Danes, I am told, sleep 16+ hours a day and I guess most of the days she does do that. The passed few were anomalies. Everyone kept seeing “signs” and saying, “She’s going to fall over asleep now.” They were wrong. Actually, she was somewhat like a huge Westie fo a couple of days: I’m here; I’m here; Pay attention to me. (Sounds a bit like AmeliaJake, come to think about it.)

She has such a kind face but Great Danes have sensitive stomachs and people food is not good for them at all. It was hard not to slip her a bit of specially grilled hamburger. That was quite a difference from out cast iron stomach Cocker Spaniel, Little Ann, who looked very, very cute . . . but if you knew her, you were aware her message was, “Your hamburger or your sanity.” She didn’t threaten your life – I mean, she knew she’d need you for lots of tomorrows.

But, back to the Great Dane. Her companions are Der Bingle’s nephew Joe and his wife. Joe is with drones at Grand Forks AFB – well, out of three years there, he’s spent most of three winters in the Mideastern desert and in Guam. His wife is with a bank in Grand Forks; she’s very smart and often promoted and during the winter, she gave him her official two-cents worth: “It’s MINUS 68 degrees chill factor.”

Oh, I was supposed to talk about the second state of the trip back, Illinois. I’m easily distracted, Maybe tomorrow. On the other hand, tomorrow may be tales of good time in Camp Nature Boy, LZP’s backyard gathering spot.

We started out in North Liberty, Iowa, which is in the eastern part of Iowa, just a wee bit north of Interstate 80, and not all that far from the World’s Largest Truck Stop and the Mississippi River. However, when you are driving it, it takes a lot longer than just saying it. You do, though, eventually cross the Mississippi, which is not all that exciting on an Interstate bridge, as opposed to the older steel gridwork bridges that had mesh roadways, through which you could see the river. And some of these bridges didn’t just sit there; they pivoted to let barge traffic through.

And, in front of us, loomed Illinois. That would be the second state and I’ve grown tired remembering it.