Walked to the grocery store this morning, arriving just before opening. The lot was nearly full and the street outside lined with parked pickup trucks and SUVs. Unheard of on a Sunday morning. Clerk opened the doors — and out of those vehicles poured guys. I’m guessing there were six men for every one woman.
It’s SuperBowl Sunday in the NorthWest and the local team is playing for the second year in a row.
We’re having another of those moments where the sky is blue, the sun blinding, and the air so mild that fleece sweatpants and a turtleneck under the tee-shirt are almost too much.
So the guy who helps with my yardwork turned up to do some long-discussed brush clearing, trash hauling, and felling of small trees. (Totally blowing my January “minimalist” budget, but that’s another story.) Twice this week he and a couple of grubby kids (one of whom is his daughter-in-law, a tough bundle of charm) have crawled down the slope across the road and dug in. They’ve attacked noxious giant weeds (which my beekeeping neighbors won’t let me poison if I want to keep peace in the valley). They’ve taken down and heaped up small, malformed trees. They’ve hauled out every sort of trash, from microwaves and broken toilets to dozens of bags of cat poop.
My apologies, all you people there on the upper east coast. I hear that the ghastly weather you’re having is our fault. Something to do with this monstrous ridge of high pressure plunging down on us; creates a monster low for you.
Believe me, I was thinking of you this afternoon while I contemplated whether or not I should wear the tee-shirt with a turtleneck or skip the turtleneck for a dog walk. I felt soooooo guilty.
I agree with Brian Keith’s fine analysis of the “carrots” and the “sticks” in the gun-rights movement. Except, of course, when one of the “carrots” actually goes over to the other side, pretends he can prevent what the enemy really wants, and collaborates by helping write tyrannical legislation.
From Ellendra in comments: have a “go to zero” month. (Kinda what I’ve been doing this month, except this family went much farther than I would. Maybe another month this summer …)
“My Old Dead Drunk Self.” Breaking dependency not only on substances but on the conventions of “recovery.”
Santa has been extremely, extremely good to me. Yeah, I know it seems sorta late to mention that, but not really. Apparently Santa hasn’t even finished with me yet.
In the rage over Islamist attacks on the west and western values, let us not forget that the worst and most helpless victims are Muslims and those who live in Muslim countries.
Lovely, starkly designed cabins from around the world But who lives in these things and how do they get by without bathrooms?
Three more hopeful looks at Western-Islamic relations: An imam says Muslims must reject violence and governments must change course; Glenn Harlan Reynolds points out that Muslim leaders are finally realizing that their “brand” is tarnished by the acceptance of intolerance; author Irshad Manji is optimistic about the future between Islam and the West.
Every time I checked the weather between 4:00 p.m. yesterday and 7:00 a.m. today, it said current conditions here were “heavy rain mist.” Um … but that “mist” pounded so hard for all those hours that I couldn’t hear myself think.
Sure enough, woke up this morning overlooking a river. The one house I can see across the former wetland below is in at least a foot of water (if not more) and my neighbors across the street (who are, like me, on a hill) are joking that they’re going to list their place for sale today as “waterfront property.”
I’m good, though my driveway is worse for the wear and the seasonal waterfall on the slope behind it is roaring so vigorously neighbors have walked over to take pictures.
It’s an awful mess down on the flat, where of course the people in the mobile home park and the little low houses are getting it worse than anybody. Not life-threatening bad. But a giant, completely unpredicted mess. We knew a substantial rainstorm was on the way, but all the flooding was supposed to be miles from here. From what I hear, we got about 6-1/2 inches of “heavy rain mist.” (And it sure did sound heavy last night.)
I also hear that we’re completely closed off by landslides and flooded roads.
And yipes! this is low tide. High tide — and a king tide, yet — is supposed to hit in a few hours. The rain has slacked off, though, so that’s to the good and maybe the worst is past.
I’ll try and post some pix later.
Meanwhile, I’ve got the final portion of Vin’s interview pre-scheduled for noonish 11:00-ish PST, so even if the power goes out, you’ll still get your Vin fix.
One Raymond, Washington, resident expresses his enthusiasm for the town’s new status:
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Washington state’s new recreational cannabis law is known for being a little less “wild westy” than Colorado’s. The Rocky Mountain High state rushed its implementation and has had some problems. Washington (which only legalized private liquor sales shortly before it legalized pot) went about things more slowly and bureaucratically.
You might think the above photo is terribly boring.
You would be wrong.
You’d know exactly how un-boring it is if you drove past that large blue building with the impressive air-handling equipment. The wafting aroma of cannabis will follow you for a quarter of a mile.
I recently made a little expedition to a town in Washington state that’s turning out to have quite a story. That building is part of it.
Okay, not hermitting yet. So here are some newslinks.
Just vaporware so far, but Forbes thinks cops might soon add ‘Net-connected guns to their growing arsenal of monitoring gear.
Nastiest political tactic of the year: siccing SWAT teams on your opponents and critics.
A southerner apologizes for bigotry. But with the southerner being Fred Reed, things don’t quite come out the way northern liberals might wish.
Nooz you can use (if you’re really into alternative housing): grain-bin homes. (I love the stuccoed one, but I’d like to know how you keep these things from getting hotter than the hinges of heck, long about August.) Tip o’ hat, MJR.
You forgot to add how useful those bags are for picking up dog poop. I live in a blue state and the closer you go to civilization, the more likely it is that you’ll have to bring your own cloth shopping bags. Misguided political correctness.
Not long ago, I rolled my eyes and said the tiny-house movement had jumped the shark. Then this morning, friend G. sent me to this site. And this 192-square-foot house, the Axia.
While there’s a suspicious dearth of info (the link to TechDwell’s pdf brochure is 404), it’s a for-real thing. Portland, Oregon, is building a village of these for the homeless.
If they’re as easy to build (and unbuild) as they say … well, that’s remarkable. On price, on tech, on a number of measures, they’d beat the usual overpriced tiny house hands down. (That is, if somebody doesn’t get carried away and order all their yuppified options.)
Yes, yes, go ahead and tell me you can build something like this yourself out of old pallets, cardboard boxes, and strapping tape for much less than TechDwell’s basic price. That’s true. Joel’s Secret Lair is similar and cost less. But the tech on this is intriguing, as is the ability to tear it down and move it. Also, you can add your own options (solar, rainwater catchment, etc.) for less than they cost from TechDwell.
The look reminds me a bit of the UnitOne cabin. But if the TechDwell Axia is all it appears to be, I’d rather have an Axia.
Gads, what a great artist’s studio. Or guest house. Or pool house. Or vacation cabin.
