I’m not much for marking the calendar at every event that occurs in my life.  Life, by its nature, is a continuous series of events and if you celebrate or note EVERY event that affects your course through its entirety, well, as you get older you won’t have time to do anything ELSE.  Still, it has been twenty years since the day my mother-in-law passed away and that, in itself, is worthy of note.

There are a lot of memories that spring to mind at a time like this:  big family events, major holidays, important gatherings.  These aren’t the things that stand out with greatest intensity, however.  The really meaningful memories are the little things.  Moments of everyday life; items which fill out the whole of her character…not Mom standing in a reception line greeting many people, but Mom working in the kitchen with one of her girls.  Not she and her husband sitting on the couch surrounded by kids in one of those posed Christmas shots, but sitting off to the side while her grandchildren open gifts…watching with the joyful eyes only a grandmother can have.  These are the kinds of pictures that come to mind – plucked from a nearly unmanageable wall of remembrances.  The easy smile.  Her walk and her voice and her laugh.  The things she liked and the people she cared for…

Beyond all else, she loved to visit.  While her favorite topic was her grandchildren, in person or on the phone (back then, we used those ancient things that were tethered to the wall), she could talk on any subject.  It was said in jest by someone, and I’m not positive who it was so I won’t mention that it was her husband, that the phone could ring and Mom could answer and be finished in ten minutes – but only if it was a wrong number.  It became standard practice during long distance phone calls to state immediately that you were really busy and couldn’t talk…which would keep the conversation down to a manageable half hour, maybe 45 minutes.  Thinking myself quick and innovative, I would try to come up with unique ways of getting off the phone like, “Gotta’ go!  The baby just threw the cat into the ceiling fan!”  Being a conscientious mother and grandmother, however, she’d just call back shortly to check on the baby or the fan or tell you how to get cat hair off the furniture.  She was probably just worried about our second son, Pierce, who I lovingly referred to as “the Demon Child”.  Still, she always liked him, even then, and was probably afraid I’d hang him from the ceiling fan.  She really had nothing to worry about – while it had occurred to me to try that, chances are good he would have liked it and I’d never have been able to keep him down from the thing.

Like most people who enjoy verbal communication, Mom used many “colloquial” or “informal” conversational phrases that grew into habit over years of use.  Everyone does this to some degree and in many cases it becomes trademark to a persons’ speech.  Sort of like Bruce Willis swearing constantly in his early movies whether the situation called for it or not.  Let’s face it, it must be habit because Bruce really didn’t seem to have a lot to swear about.  He made a lot of money and seemed to be in good health.  He had a beautiful wife, Demi Moore, who also had a lot of money and was in visibly good health.  Maybe he was mad about losing his hair so early, who knows.

Anyway, one of Moms’ favorite phrases was, “That’s the case of…”  She would use this to preface a statement explaining one thing or another, or to present a common sense analogy.  Something like:

“That’s the case of, if they don’t like what you’re wearing they should buy you something else.”

It didn’t matter where she put the phrase.  She was so smooth and fluid with the usage that it always fit right in wherever it was.  I always smiled when she said it and it’s one of the first things I think of now.

Verna hadn’t been ill and she was still quite young, which made her death a terrible shock.  Even so, I should point out in her defense that Mom was never one to take forever doing something.  Once she made up her mind, she was, by God, going to do it.  Of course, getting her to change her mind was about as easy as getting a big, macho, professional sports figure to put on a dress.  Okay, bad example, Dennis Rodman, but you get the idea, anyway.  The need to get her to change her mind didn’t arise often because she was a good and friendly soul.  Regardless of the tough front she would show on occasion, she would give you every opportunity to prove yourself…especially if she liked you.  The only real transgression one could commit was to act in some way against one of her children or grandchildren.  At that point you could just as well take her off your Christmas card list – and I would have advised against opening any suspicious packages, as well.  This sin was nearly unforgivable unless maybe you felt a tremendous amount of remorse and performed some type of painful self-sacrifice such as tying yourself into an uncomfortable chair and watching golf on television until you lapsed into a coma and died of dehydration.  And besides, the fact that such an action could be considered counter-productive on a personal level, I’m not sure it would have changed her mind, anyway.

I was lucky enough never to have to worry about that; Mom liked me…but, please, don’t hold that against her character.  A good friend of hers told me at her service that I had been her “pet”.  While that explains why her daughter still keeps me on a short leash, I was very touched to hear that she appreciated my membership in her family so much that she actually admitted it to others.  My own mother can barely do that without bursting into tears (although, in her defense, she’s my mother, so she’s earned that right).  Of course, Verna and I had several things in common aside from one of her daughters and four of her grandchildren.  She was quick to laugh and would rather find humor in a situation than dwell upon the negative.  Oh, she would mention the negative and she’d never forget the negative, but she wouldn’t dwell on it.  Also, she didn’t have much time for people who took themselves too seriously.  That’s clearly no problem for me since I have difficulty taking the Internal Revenue Service seriously (I don’t need to.  Just try talking to them…they take themselves seriously enough.)

Mom was a simple woman.  She came from common, simple beginnings and, as far as I could tell, she never aspired to be any more than that…probably because she felt that to be other than a “regular person” wasn’t really better.  I know she would have liked to have had a bit more money, but more for the purpose of having fewer bills and a couple less worries than to have more “things”.  She probably would have worn the same kind of clothes and kept the same old but well cared for…pieces of furniture.  (My father-in-law would have expected me to say “husband”, and I thought about it.  She would have chuckled at that.)  I always wanted to buy them a different car, but aside from the fact that I couldn’t afford it, I could never determine what Mom liked.  She didn’t care for the square, angular designs because they looked like “a box”.  The rounded, aerodynamic style wasn’t to her liking because they look like an “upside-down bathtub”.  If she’d had what she really wanted she probably would have opted for a car just like the one she had, only in better shape.  I guess I could live with that, but I never really cared for the vehicle.  It always reminded me of a battleship…except it wasn’t grey, it was a couple feet longer than an actual battleship and had fewer antennas sticking out the top.

In her last few years Mom had begun to acquire an ever-so-slightly bent walk.  I think the main cause of that was her purse, an area where she faced two almost insurmountable problems:  she tried to be prepared for almost every contingency and she was a grandma.  Verna ordinarily carried a black, inexpensive, conservatively styled purse which I believe was made by the personal products division of the Steamer Trunk & Trailer Company.  I could never understand how she could tote the darn thing over extended periods.  But then, she needed to have her wallet and checkbook.  And some Kleenex, of course.  And pictures of the grandkids were a necessity, not to mention numerous pens, pencils, notepaper, envelopes, stamps, coupons, maybe some candy, a small screwdriver and a spare tire for a ’78 Ford.  Not a full size spare, mind you.  Just one of those goofy little fake ones that prompt you to get your original tire repaired because the spare looks so stupid on your car.  Actually, I’m just kidding.  Not about the little spare looking stupid, I mean about Mom having a spare in her purse…BUT, she may have had enough stuff in there to fix one!

These are just a very few of the memories I grasp in this time of reflection.  Innumerable tears have been shed for the loss and many stragglers will follow them over time.  But Moms’ life was nothing to cry about.  She lived the life she had with love in her heart and a smile on her face and, in my own sorrow-evading way, that’s what I like to remember.

Naturally, in the case of a sudden parting such as this there is always a lack of closure; of things that could have been said.  If I had the chance to talk to her, for just a few minutes, I’d tell her how much she is loved and how much she means to us and how much we all miss her…

In her understanding way, Mom would say, “I know, Son…”

And not being able to stop with that, she would smile and say, “But that’s the case of…”

         Quite often when writing these little pieces of thinly connected thoughts I spend time contemplating in a booth or table at one of a number of local restaurants whose primary distinction is that they don’t throw me out after I have been sitting around drinking coffee for two hours.  In return, I try not to take up space during peak business times of the day such as lunch hour or coffee break time for city employees.  

          One of my favorite places is situated next to a beautiful park-like setting.  The view from the large windows helps to give me inspiration…if that’s what you can call whatever it is that causes me to write this kind of stuff.  The 25 cent coffee may also be a factor.

          Whatever it is, I have found I gain more than just a break from the walls at home or the inspiration from the park.  Many ideas for my informative essays veritably (collegiate word for “just about”) careen (poetic word for “bounce”) from the exterior ceiling supports and room separators (architectural term for “walls”).  It helps that the acoustical properties of the building make it possible to hear everyone in the place clearly except the person in the booth with you.  Of course, I am getting older and may be developing far-hearedness… a condition present when you can’t hear your daughter saying “Daddy…Daddy…Daddy…” right beside your chair but you complain to your wife that the neighbor three houses down shouldn’t mow his lawn during the play-offs.

          Anyway, the whole advantage of having these conversations as a source of ideas is in having a whole room full of researchers who read volumes of material.  During their interaction with each other I can pick from all of the collective information being passed back and forth.

          Now it’s true that the informants at this particular establishment don’t pass on much information from the Wall Street Journal of political points of view from the Washington Post.  These are, however, people I feel a part of and with whom I am comfortable.  In addition, I find I don’t have to stand in the long line at the grocery store just so I can read the Enquirer or the Weekly World News, since that information is often covered in-depth.

I also gain a great deal of insight into interpersonal relationships.  Just the other day I was told – well, actually I think the lady behind me was told that Cary and Gretal or Gretchen, or maybe even all three, were pregnant and were going to have a pheasant in four months and then they couldn’t go to high school to learn hunting because they wouldn’t allow them out of the nursing home.  It was quite busy that day, but I’ve got it all right here in my notes.

          As you listen it’s possible to pick up tid-bits of valuable folk wisdom, as well.  One day an older gentleman was teaching others how he could blow his nose to clear his hearing – whether he had a cold or not made no difference.  He felt this kept him from wearing a hearing aid.  I think he needed a handkerchief, though, ‘cause he said “What?” a lot.

          In addition I learned that Would you like more coffee, sir?  Excuse me.  I was distracted.  Anyway, I picked up some tips on denture care, soft water versus hard water, support hose and I also covered a conversation on lingerie and its strategic selection for purposeful effect.  I couldn’t bring myself to look but I really kind of hope these discussions didn’t all come from the same table, if you know what I mean.

          By far, the largest number of table-talks cover the topics of:

                     A)  Hunting and fishing

                     2) Vehicles

                     Next to last)  Family

IV)         The direction of society today

Of these subjects, the coverage of motorized vehicles is largely a male topic.  In my attentiveness I have gained many opinions on the superiority of Ford, Chevy, Dodge, Toyota, Isuzu, Bugati, Kenworth and Winnebago.  Points of discussion include engine comparisons, horsepower, fuel efficiency, fuel injection and fuel emissions.  Also torque…(What the heck is torque, anyway?  Have you ever seen the stuff?)  Women, on the other hand, usually only talk about vehicles when they don’t start.

          As a primarily male topic hunting and fishing are covered year-round.  I can often find out where the fish are biting, who will allow you to hunt their land, which loads work best in diverse conditions and who shot B. J. Arnells’ Hereford.  As you can imagine, all of this information is valuable in one way or another, if you know what to do with it.

          Contrary to what you may believe, women spend a lot of time talking about hunting and fishing as well.  Many begin their conversations with the topic, such as:

                     “Have you seen your husband lately?”

          or

“I told him if he was leaving at 4:30 in the morning, he could get up and make his own lunch!”

On occasion women will talk about hunting in a positive light – generally when they want their husbands to be out of the house.

          The next on the list, interpersonal and family discussions, are a co-ed topic, but the depth of the issue is much greater with women.  This is probably the source of the mistaken impression that men are shallow as the kiddy pool.  Men are not shallow.  They are uncaring.  There is a big difference and another ten pages there, which we will cover at another time.

          Anyway, the interpersonal and family topic, when in discussion, is usually confined to people related to the, um, discussioners…or people they know…or people other people they know, know.  And of course, people other people they know have heard of.  Got that?  These conversations make me worry about the direction of society today.

          Granted, these subjects are largely confined to men and women middle aged and older who are firmly entrenched in the lower middle-income socio-economic status.  I do, sometimes, hear teens converse naturally on their favorite topics.  These are usually the enterprising young girls who work as waitresses on the weekends.  When I do find it possible to figure out what it is they’re talking about, I find it has to do with the poor behavior of their classmates and, 79.2% of the time, boys they like…or don’t like…or someone else likes or doesn’t like.  Do you see a pattern here?  Anyway, this information doesn’t usually supply me with any literary ideas, but quite often I gather enough dirt on some local boy to get my lawn mowed for free.  It is, after all, a terrible tool to know that Bob likes Kellys’ sister, but doesn’t want the other guys to know.  Peer pressure can be a powerful thing.

          All in all, I could find a “fancier” place to have my coffee.  Maybe someplace I could hear quotes from Business Week and the McNeil/Lehrer Report or maybe listen in on a discussion on the effects of dimple placement on golfball distance or the longevity of the sex lives of certain members of the Kennedy family.  The idea, however, that someone needs to have conversations about these things is pretty funny in itself and obviously needs no further harassment from me.

          And do you know what a fancy place like that charges for a lousy cup of coffee?!

          Besides, they threw me out after only an hour and twenty minutes.

In my continuing efforts to inform the general reading public of new, interesting, exciting developments – or at least, things that I sometimes think of during moments of lucidity – I feel I should inform you of an interesting discovery I have made:

Men and women are different!

Oh, sure, I noticed some of the more obvious differences already.  Things such as the fact that women are required by some amendment to natural law to remove the hair from their legs in order to wear semi-transparent leggings, whereas if they didn’t remove the hair they would already have semi-transparent leg covering.  Or that men have difficulty in communicating unless using aggressive sporting terminology such as “shoot”, “take-down”, “tackle” or “slam-dunk”, and then they get all the leadership positions promoting peace.

The difference I noticed this time has to do with memory.  It seems that men and women remember things differently.  I’m not saying they can’t agree on the things they remember.  I believe there are documented instances of this actually happening, though I’ve never personally seen it.  And, at this point I would like to state that the fault for that is largely mine.  (That disclaimer should help shield me from any argumentative backlash.)

This should not be a surprise to persons who have been in a relationship…or been around people in a relationship…or read about..; well, you get it.  Anyone who has spent enough time with another person to move past the “whatever you say, dear” stage knows that men and women recall things differently.  As an example of this, let’s look back on a winter Sunday morning after a freezing rain.  My wife and I were standing on the church steps as an older widow lady was having trouble making it up the icy sidewalk.  Naturally, I moved to the bottom of the steps to help the woman to the handrail. After she reached the stabilizing fixture and had regained her balance I removed my steadying hold and turned away.  At this point she apparently slipped on a patch of ice and fell into a snowbank.  As she fell she bumped me and I, becoming deprived of the necessary traction to remain upright, was forced to cushion my fall in the snow rather than strike the ice-covered concrete.  These are the events exactly as they transpired.

My wife, however, remembers that I imprudently bounded down the steps to help a pretty young woman who was doing quite well on her own, thank you.  In her story, I landed on a patch of ice, slid across the sidewalk and careened off the girl, depositing both of us in the snow bank.  This is definitely not the true version of this particular occurrence.

Those of you who are inexperienced in matters of gender-selective memory are probably wondering why I am not upset by such a blatant misrepresentation.  To be honest, I was surprised that, in my wife’s version, I was given the benefit of slipping on the ice rather than falling due to my own clumsiness.  Besides, what she recalls did happen, it just happened on another occasion.

The real memory difference I am here to discuss is the process of memory – the variations in the way women and men tie together the memories they have.

Psychologically the process is generally similar.  People of all genders (meaning two) relate memories to other important events which occur in the same time period.  A person may hear a certain song and automatically recall a specific dance they went to or a special date they had.  This is quite normal, especially in the memories of adolescence or young adulthood.

Beyond these years, male and female memory structures diverge.  Both men and women will still recall an occurrence and place in a certain time period by associating it with an important personal event.  Women usually use deep, sentimental moments:  engagement, marriage and, mostly…children.

“That was in 1986,” she may say, “because we already had Bobby and Sarah.  I was still pregnant with Mikey, though, and he was born in July.  I recall the weather was nice, so it must have been June.”

As far as memory associations go, this is about as accurate as any if you don’t have an eidetic memory, in which case you’re probably too insufferable to be in a relationship with anyone, anyway.  Short of keeping a calendar or journal of such things as when Karen quit seeing Tom and started going out with Mark, that is.

Men would not remember when this type of incident occurred by associating the event with their children (actually, they may not remember it at all)…unless maybe one of his children threw up on Tom causing him to question family-life, commitment and his relationship with Karen and running off without looking back, thereby leaving Karen open to have a meaningful relationship with Mark.  And men probably wouldn’t even remember this unless it happened during a big game or maybe on Super Bowl Sunday.

To remember the time-frame of an event of substantial importance, a male will recall:

“We drove there in that ’81 Buick…we had that before the big Chrysler.  The carburetor was already starting to give me trouble so it must have been in the summer of ’86 sometime ‘cause the kids were out of school.  I remember ‘cause they were drivin’ me nuts.”

You may think, compared to the importance of the events used by women to associate memories, that this method is cold and heartless, lacking sentiment of any sort.  Nothing could be further from the truth…

I had a lot of warm feelings for that car.

Cooking in the outdoors has always been one of my favorite activities…or, I guess that’s eating in the great outdoors. Actually, I think eating anywhere is what I enjoy. But then, eating while outdoors is great because it saves me the trip back to the house.

Some men rarely cook when they’re at home. While that is not true for me, it is true that everything I make outdoors tastes better than the same fare prepared at home. This is due primarily to the meal planning and what is known as the hunger/taste ratio. This ratio is used as an indicator which assumes that the acceptable taste of a particular food increases in direct proportion to the hunger of the dining subject. I use this ratio in conjunction with trail meal planning, which consists largely of another indicator ratio, the hunger/hike ratio. This indicator states that the farther and harder a person hikes, the hungrier he or she will be. It follows that the hungrier the person is, the tastier a relative meal will be. It is by the use of this equation that most of my outdoor preparations become palatable.

Actually, after a long day of hiking some tough mountain trails, I have seen a group thoroughly enjoy a dandelion green and Canada thistle salad with a main course of pine bark stew with spruce cone croutons. (This recipe’s secret demands the use of pine bark, not spruce.) According to Patrick F. McManus, who wrote the book Watchagot Stew, you can mix anything you have available in with your stew. Personally, I don’t recommend rocks when in the core of a mountain chain – the granite and quartzite cannot be boiled enough to become soft even though they are a great source of minerals. Rocks from the foothills, with their higher moisture content, may be more adaptable to this recipe’.

Anyway, outdoor, um, gormeticism, while a subjective art, is not difficult to commit, er, do. Basically you have three heat source options: Cooking over an open fire, charcoal heat or a campstove. All methods of outdoor cooking fall under, or into, these three heat sources. I have a friend who made a wonderful meal using the 1988 Yellowstone wildfires as a heat source, but that would fall under open fire cooking. Also, I understand that with the proper equipment, an excellent job of cooking can be done using solar power. This is not so much a cooking heat source as it is something I know nothing about, so I will not consider it in the otherwise comprehensive text of this article.

Cooking over an open fire is the oldest method of cooking with the possible exception of electric roasting. You see, it is a little known scientific and archeological fact that wooly mammoth tusks acted much like lightning rods. This would leave the creature unevenly cooked but with an ample variety for all the different tastes in the tribe, from rare to well done. You didn’t think they all froze to death or got stuck in tar pits or something, did you?

Anyway, while used early in mans’ history, open fire cooking is no longer common. The flames are extremely hot and difficult to control for even cooking. My open flame cooking technique could best be described as “rare Cajun”; that is, blackened on the outside and largely raw on the inside. Since this method appeals to very few people, regardless of hours hiked, I tend to prefer cooking over charcoal or coals from the wood fire.

Charcoal cooking on a grill is well known to almost everyone. It is also possible to use this method outside your usual backyard perimeter. Using coals as a heat source produces a steady, more controlled heat than an open fire and is much more manageable. Cooking over coals may be done by the familiar grilling method whereby you place food directly on the coals by first dropping it through a grate of some type. This apparently has a straining effect but I don’t know what’s being strained aside from the chef’s patience. I believe this action is merely a male ritual of ancient origin since it is always followed by loud chanting of specific obscenities. A large percentage of the men I know perform this rite in much the same way, although the chanting may differ. Possibly a tribal variation.

Coals also work well with any number of cooking or baking devices from Dutch ovens or reflective ovens to tin foil or a skillet over the heat source. Any method that allows you to ruin a perfectly good meal at home will work over coals. One very old method of cooking originally used by native Americans is pit cooking. A large hole is dug several feet deep and coals are lit within. When the coals are glowing nicely, wrap a roast, potatoes, or whatever you desire cooked in wet burlap or some other protective layering and place it on the coals in the pit. Cover this very loosely with dirt and leave for 8 to 12 hours…more or less depending on the number of coals, the size or volume of the cooking items and whether you remember where you buried it. This method is primitive but effective and can be satisfying to the pallet as well as to deep survivalist neurosis, er, urges. It also teaches us an understanding of the struggle of early man, not to mention the proper use of a shovel.

A more sophisticated method of outdoor cooking is by the use of a camp stove. These are most common in the models fueled by white gas or propane. Cooking on these stoves is the same as cooking on your stove at home except for the need to screen the flame from the wind, pump up the pressure in the tank, prime the burner for initial lighting, heat the vaporization tube…okay, so it’s not the same as cooking on the stove at home. After these tasks are completed, however, the procedure for burning your meal is precisely the same.

For backpacking, the standard Coleman style twin burner stove is somewhat (as in very) large, but its offspring, the single burner pack stove, is light, efficient and easier to carry than a 20 pound bag of charcoal briquettes. Meals prepared on these stoves should be planned well ahead of time. Prepackaging one pot meals for use on the trail can be very helpful as they are quick and easy to prepare on your lone heat source. To save weight many meals are offered as freeze-dried fare. These are quite often edible and actually very tasty. They also take the fun out of outdoor cooking. Meals planned and prepared by yourself on a packstove have that extra flavor which only comes from trail dirt, white gas and extreme fatigue. It’s sometimes helpful for beginning outdoor chefs to find some special outdoor cooking books, but to be totally honest, recipes for cooking over these heat sources can be taken from your collection at home…or your wife’s collection at home, as the case may be. Most primitive gourmets tend to discard this wise advice, however. I have a camping buddy who packs a box full of spices for his camp cooking that makes his wife’s home supply look like a starter kit, yet he doesn’t cook a hot dog at home without scorching it. This, at least, can be ultimately recognized as a burnt hot dog. His outdoor menu is rather overbuilt. Now that I think about it, he could be over-spicing for purposes of camouflage. We usually need to stop early so Jim can get to his cooking. By the time he’s finished with preparation, everyone is showing signs of malnutrition. It could be that Jim is privy to my indicator ratios but, like his cooking, he tends to stretch them out too much as well.

After all, there’s only so much you can expect from starvation.

I have been pondering mobile homes on and off for quite some time and I have a question in relation to that: Why?
I mean, you’ve seen a mobile home recently, right? Sixteen, eighteen, even 32 feet wide and somewhere between about 56 feet and 180 yards long. Occasionally, you’ll see a brand new one going down the road in as many as three parts. You can tell it’s new ’cause it’s still wrapped in plastic with that little UPC sticker in the corner. You know, the black and white bar code they ran across the register when the person bought it. These homes can be quite large and not at all what you would call, in any practical terminology, mobile.
Mobile homes did, however, have very honest, humble beginnings. That was back in the early to middle part of the 1900’s when they were unwhincingly known as “trailer houses.” For many families whose livelihood was mobile, like construction workers, harvesting crews, traveling show people,, bank robbers, etc., the trailer was often the only home they knew for quite some time. Whole families lived in these few rooms on wheels. They could work the job and then back the old Dodge up to the house and take off for the next job site only to return in several hours because little Billy wasn’t sleeping in his bed in the trailer but was over at Jeffies’ playing. But then, nothing is perfect.
American tradition, however, led to a continuous increase in the size of the trailer house. In short order you could no longer pull the trailer with the old Dodge. You needed a new Heavy Duty GMC pick-up and a trailer towing package. Then a one ton truck. Soon it was no longer much more convenient to have a trailer house than it was to own, say, the Baja Peninsula. Somewhere in here the idea of the trailer house diverged into two distinct lines: the Mobile Home and the Camper.
Take the camper. Along an evolutionary scale, todays’ camper compares to the original trailer house in the same way a new automobile follows after the first Model T Ford. The idea is the same: basic shelter which is easily transportable from place to place. Naturally, the new camper comes in more sizes with more options and more available luxuries, from a pop–up camper which is essentially a tent that has the additional ability to roll into the lake after you set it up, to a large, split level 5th wheel trailer, which, no matter how you count them, ALWAYS has at least 2 extra wheels (that would be SIX). The advancements in campers have some so far as to have actually moved 180 degrees, from the trailer house to the trailer car. In this case, a large engine moves the camper and the camper pulls a small sport utility vehicle. Or maybe as the units got larger they went from spare tires to spare vehicles.
On the other hand, the original trailer house leads to the modern mobile home in the same way the first stone wheel eventually sired, say, the TV Dinner. Not only is the size different, the whole idea is different. Yes, you can still move your mobile home yourself, provided you are presently an independent hauler with your own Kenworth tractor and a commercial drivers’ license. In any other case it will cost you only slightly less than moving a standard construction 30 x 50 ranch style home with a double garage (basements do cost extra). As a matter of fact, many contractors build conventional homes with the intention of selling them and having them moved to your lot (basements cost extra). The only real difference is the standard home is built on blocks and moved to a foundation, whereas the mobile home is built on a steel frame with wheels, moved to your location and placed in your yard on blocks – kinda’ like that old Buick by your Uncle Frank’s shed.
To be fair, many of today’s mobile homes are quality built, fuel efficient, ergonomically designed homes that are comfortable and pleasurable to live in. These also can be placed on a basement (which costs extra) to make a complete home. Despite this fact, most mobile homes are not placed on the home owner’s lot, but are set in a mobile home court, estate, villa or manor. These are typically large parcels of land – usually recent soybean fields – which are devoid of some of the amenities of your standard home site. Things such as curbs, trees, level ground, character, etc. They do, however, have one redeeming quality for the mobile home owner: they are zoned for mobile homes.
So here’s what you do. You find a nice, large, beautiful double wide mobile home, for which you pay, say, $90,000 (on a 30 year mortgage at 9% interest).. Because of zoning ordinances, you’re not permitted to place it up the hill next to Dr. Hectors’ house so you rent a lot in a mobile home court. Now, since you’re thinking you’re not going to move the darn thing anyway, you build a nice double wide garage with a loft next to your mobile home on a piece of land which does not belong to you. For this you have paid an additional $40,000 not counting the monthly payment you need to make on the lot rent.
Let’s say in three years something comes up and you decide to move. Since it costs so much to relocate the mobile home, not to mention the garage and that concrete floor and driveway, you resolve to sell your home where it is – on someone else’s land. This will likely net you a loss of about 60% from your original investment, not counting any appreciation you may have gained on an actual home, which is probably none because any increase in your real property value would likely be recognized and offset by the realtor fees, legal costs, state and federal taxes, storm door surcharge fees and penalties for the use of chartreuse shag carpet.
So, as you see, the only actual mobile thing about a mobile home seems to be the value, which moves on pretty quickly after you buy the thing.

Okay, let’s grab a chance to set aside an hour, hop in the car and take a drive. Today, however, instead of taking the freeway to the next major city or your local highway to the closest town or even the nearest through street to that trendy neighborhood brewpub – which we both know will take you a lot more than an hour – let’s take a drive on some back roads. These are mostly spare roads that people are hardly using right now. I mean, they may not be as good as your main roads or thoroughfare or even a side street and some of them may not even be paved. Because we’re always needing roads they just know that someday we’ll find a use for them so they save them and put them out back. That’s why they call them backroads…maybe.
The federal government used to keep these roads in central storage facilities in the midwest but during the F.D. Roosevelt administration they decided to distribute them to the public along with jobs, ration stamps and those 5 pound blocks of cheese (which they’re still not out of). Later on they took these storage facilities and made missile silos out of them. Now they’ve filled the missile silos all with dirt, concrete, asphalt and other paving materials, which they could have used to generate more roads – go figure.
Now before you take off, don’t confuse backroads with sideroads. Sideroads, too, are quite common and can be found near or often right beside many main roads, if you can believe that. They can usually be identified by names like “Rough River Road” or “Cherry Creek Drive” or “Porky Parkway” – things near which they run or destinations to which they go. Often these sideroads existed alone for quite some time because people actually wanted to go to these places. Finally some astute person pointed out the error of having a side road without the benefit of a main road from which it stemmed so the local residents were faced with the options of renaming the sideroad something mundane, like “County Road 118.3” or “Brown County 7.” Taxes were then increased to generate more money for additional roads to connect to the sideroads. This is the American way… Except in some metropolitan areas like Illinois, where you pay taxes for the roads and then you pay again when you actually want to use them. This is the “Chicago way.” This method also works for “protection” for your business and expensive loans in alleyways, but that’s for a different article.
“Fine,” you say. “I’ll take a backroad. But where do I start?”
This is the easiest part of the whole process. Look out your window. Wait! Take this paper with you. Okay, look out the window. See that street? That’s your best place to begin. Some schools of thought advocate the need to go to the edge of town to start or maybe the first main highway. I have always found the best place to start is where you’re at… It seems if you have to go somewhere else to “start”, you never quite get around to it.
Once you take off on your aimless backroad drive, you should actually have an aimless backroad. Identifying one is fairly easy. First of all, it won’t be more than two lanes and in most cases, it won’t be paved – unless a politician lives there, which is unlikely since they all move to the city to keep their finger on the pulse of America. Of course, the city they move to is usually Washington, D.C., where they know absolutely nothing about the pulse of America. They also know nothing about the respiration, blood pressure, cholesterol level or kidney output of America, much less the backroad system. Let’s just simplify. You turn onto a gravel road and drive for, oh, a couple of minutes. You stop. You look around and the thought occurs to you, “This road doesn’t go anywhere!” This is a backroad.
Of course, just because this road goes nowhere you normally want to be doesn’t mean it doesn’t go anywhere. Somebody probably lives on this road. You might find a young family trying to escape the hectic life of the city or an older couple going about the business of simple farm life they’ve worked all their days. Perhaps you’ll come across a compound of neo-religious zealots with underwear on their heads and automatic weapons… Or maybe a secret government installation where they’re hiding captured space aliens with atomic blasters and underwear on their heads (the space aliens, not the government people, although what they do in their off time is legally none of our business). For the most part, however, you’ll find the people are very friendly. They’ll wave or even stop to converse about the weather or the crops. Unless the backroad you’re on happens to run across the deepest part of their land or you have one of their cattle tied to your hood. For the most part, you’re okay to take the road if there are no signs, gates, concertina wire, flying lead or bomb craters, nuclear or otherwise.
“But what if I get lost?” you quiz. Well, the whole idea is to place yourself in a semi-misplaced state; an aimless exploratory situation in an open and tranquil setting. Getting completely lost would seriously hamper this position so it’s good to have a general concept of where you are or at least how you got there. One way to do this is to leave a trail of breadcrumbs. Aside from being time consuming when done from a vehicle, this has been historically and scientifically proven to be an unreliable method of trail marking by the research team of Dr.’s Hansel, Gretal, Grimm and Grimm.
One of the better methods to use in not getting lost on backroads is a simple understanding of the basic backroad layout and a sense of the directions around you. Your direction of travel can be monitored by use of a standard compass, a tool invented by the Boy Scouts, I think. The placement of backroads in the United States is normally done in a grid pattern of roads around pieces of land in either quarters, sections, uh, halves, townships, dimes or parsecs…maybe. Generally, the further west you travel, the larger the spaces between roads until in places like Montana and west Texas they use road grids which coincide with county lines and time zones. These roads will usually run in a west-east, north-south network unless they are forced to circumvent a natural barrier or landmark such as lakes, rivers, hills, Pike’s Peak or John Goodman.
I should note that government owned land does not necessarily have a layout consistent with the standard grid system. Normally these roads will wander aimlessly, often taking off in a different direction entirely whenever a new administration took over.
If you are still unsure of your ability to remain aware of your location at all times, you may want to acquire a mobile GPS, or Global Positioning System. These devices are wonderful modern appliances which can be purchased quite inexpensively or added to your smart phone via an app. There is no better, faster way to find out just how lost you really are.
Have a nice drive, enjoy America and relax! If you get lost you have a really good reason not to be at work tomorrow.

I’ve been doing this kind of thing for years.

I mean writing this stuff down.  I had to…it started building up and causing serious issues.  It took me a while before I noticed that others didn’t quite understand where I was coming from in my view of life and my surroundings (I wasn’t a really bright kid).  Eventually, I started laying these thoughts on paper and one day began actually saving them.  Still, I never really did anything with them aside from place them in a folder to dust around.  Okay, I don’t really dust anything, but you get what I’m saying.

A few weeks ago, I was perusing my bookshelves while researching another project – yes, I can write “real” stuff – and I came across my old folder.  As I was thinking of throwing it away, a voice in the back of my mind said,”Don’t throw it OUT; throw it at THEM!  Use the internet.”  That was likely the same voice that caused me to write these things in the first place.  Understanding that may help you forgive me.

Okay, then.  The internet.  While I use the technology daily, this had never occurred to me before (I mentioned I wasn’t too bright, right?)  I do, however, know some young people.  Some of them I actually helped raise.  Understanding that may help you to forgive them.  Anyway, they suggested I dispose of my ramblings, both old and new, by placing them in a web log or “blog.”   I think they feel this may be therapeutic, thereby assisting me in the betterment of my mental health and reducing the chances they may have to watch me in my old age so I’m not a danger to myself and others.  I’m not sure that’s going to work out for them, but let’s keep that to ourselves, okay?

And while we’re on the subject…shouldn’t that be spelled “‘blog,” using an apostrophe to indicate the missing letters?  If we write “blog” without an apostrophe, shouldn’t we use cant, won’t, lets or, for that matter, shouldnt?  Shouldn’t I bring this up in a separate article?

If your answer is “no,” perhaps you should refrain from reading these periodic ramblings.  This is the type of subject which encourages my off-center thought patterns.  Well, this and geographic name changes, consumer GPS units, cleaning the garage, professional sports strikes, educational opportunities and the weather.  This is not a comprehensive list as much as it is a cross section which indicates the theme.  That theme would be “non-existent.”

Really, the only commonality in these virtual pages will be the “slightly skewed perspectives” which help me, and hopefully you, to see the world in a less severe way.  An opportunity to take the world a little less seriously and possibly smile instead of fume.  To quote that most famous of philosophers, Anonymous, “You gotta  laugh.”

This may be a good juncture for me to reiterate the need to be a bit less serious. If, or perhaps, when you see something in these writings which offends you, please try not to immediately submit to the knee-jerk reaction to fire off a scathing rebuke.  Though I have, over the years, acquired several scathe-resistant coatings, I am not immune to scathing.  I don’t deal with rebukes well at ALL.  Anyway, I have a few pages about hunting, though not specifically lions or dentists (it’s topical – look it up.)  At the same time, I enjoy a few “educational?” pieces on ecology and our natural environment.  We don’t agree on every topic with ANYone and this is not my platform for social change, aside from the idea that we all need to lighten up a bit.

If , however, you find yourself offended repeatedly in the reading you do here… Why are you doing it?  Obviously, it’s not your thing.  Nobody’s forcing you to do it.  It’s definitely not a homework assignment (I hope) and while you may be the very person I’m trying to reach, I don’t want to take any abuse, verbal or otherwise, for the privilege.  Thankfully, we are still free to choose what we wish to read as well as what not to read.

Of course, much of today’s media exists not to inform and promote thought, but to shock and advance controversy.  That is not my purpose.  Actually, I am happy to say I have no purpose…  We’ll, no.  That’s not what I meant to say, but when it comes to these pages, it’s close.  If you read something here that prompts ideas or idea changing thoughts, and let me reinforce the fact that this is as likely as finding life on the fourth moon of Pluto (I have no idea if Pluto has four moons – or any, for that matter), that’s great.  And I mean great on the Tony the Tiger scale of GREAAAT!  If, on the other hand, you find something you see as wildly controversial, well, you’re reading it wrong.  Look again.  If you still see it, go back to listening to Rush Limbaugh or Bill Maher.  I’m pretty sure you’re in the wrong place, virtually and mentally… And that line right there is the kind of thing I’m talking about getting flak about.  Having seen it, I could edit it, but I will leave it and point it out as an example.

Let’s see, what else?  I guess we’ve gotten this far, we can work out any other issues along the way.  I just want to say welcome and thanks for stopping by.  I hope you will visit often and can occasionally leave with a smile.  And perhaps a slightly skewed perspective.