Trombone

I play the slide trombone.   Perhaps a better statement is that I maneuver the trombone's slide and mouthpiece to make noise. 

The slide trombone consists of a mouthpiece, slide, and bell.  (Other trombones exist with keys that work in concert with the slide.  That is much too sophisticated for me.) You blow through the mouthpiece and the air goes through the slide to the bell where the noise, the music, comes out the end.  An ordinary trombone allows you to vary the slide in different lengths from the mouthpiece.  The different lengths in combination with different  mouth positions in the mouthpiece allows one to vary the tones as they exit the bell.  The different lengths of slide are known as "positions" and one has seven positions to create different notes in a trombone.  The first position is when the slide has not moved and that position is the one position is the same for each and every trombone player.  After that the length for each of the six remaining  positions is an approximate length.  Depending on the length of your arm, seventh position may or may not be reachable.  Unlike a keyed instrument such as a trumpet, none of the six remaining positions is an exact length although you must be in a range of length, a position, to achieve a note corresponding to a note shown in the music.

I started playing trombone in grade school.  Mr. Patton, the middle school teacher (at that time it was known as a junior high) recruited different people to play different instruments at the grade school level so that he had the right combination of instruments at the junior high.  His mixture of instruments then followed to Mr. Hanson at the senior high level.  Mr. Patton wanted a certain number of brass and woodwinds.  He did not want too many of one type of brass, such as trumpets, and no lower brass, such as trombones.  For every kid that wanted to play a trumpet he would counter with another brass instrument. 

 Mr. Patton began his selection process in grade school.  When I was in sixth grade, Mr. Patton told me and my parents there was a wealth of trumpet players and not enough  trombone players.  He told us playing trombone would be the ticket to playing in the junior then senior high band.  What he did not tell us was that anyone playing an instrument would be part of the band no matter the instrument.    But being a grade school kid with parents who had no experience with instruments, my parents and I took his sales job at face value and I became a trombone player.  We bought a trombone, a trombone I still have a play, and the trombone playing experience began.

Mr. Patton did this sell job to a number of other kids with similar parents.  By the time we reached junior high there were about 12 kids playing trumpet and another 12 playing trombone.

One of the truths in navigating the trombone at the junior and senior high was one needed to practice.  It was suggested the minimum amount of practice should be an hour per day and this should be completed before homework was started. The inference was the musical education was more important than education from books. To encourage this truth, each of the players, whether trumpet or trombone, were seated according to the player's ability.  People practicing the suggested hour per day became 1st section trombones.  People practicing every once in a while became 2nd section trombones.  People who never practiced became 3rd section trombones.  In each section chairs were assigned according to the trombone player's ability.  Being 1st chair in the 1st section was the most prestigious.  In each section, people were encouraged to challenge the person in front of them.  The challenge occurred behind a curtain.  Each player was given the same portion of music and asked to play.  After they played then the band director determined the best of the players. If you were better than the person in front of you then you moved up and he or she moved to your seat. The band directors, both Patton and Hansen, made a big deal of  this challenge and challenges occurred constantly after the daily band practice for any instrument in the band where there was interest in moving up.

I was one who accepted the hype regarding the challenge.  I practiced constantly and was a 1st section trombone.  I challenged to be 1st chair of the 1st section but never was good enough, no matter the amount of practice, to become 1st chair.  I was always 2nd chair or lower throughout my junior and senior high music career. In retrospect I should have settled for 1st chair 2nd section which meant more relaxation in high school.

After high school I never picked up a trombone until our church wanted to have trombones play some Thanksgiving music in 1997.  The trombone was taken from the case and made noise for Thanksgivings in 1997, 1998, and 1999.

The trombone then stayed in its case for the next 10 years.  The church hired a new music director and he wanted to start a church orchestra.  Since then I have played the trombone almost every year for music in Christmas and Easter.

I realize now much better trombone players exist.  I could practice the church music 24 hours per day and I would only be mediocre.  The trombones made today have better range and give better sound than the one I play.  I am content playing the music with lower notes, a 3rd section trombone level, with having some one play at the 1st chair level.

With age, I realize practicing music pieces alone is fine but I need rehearsals so that I can determine how to play the music with the other instruments.

To show you how outclassed I have become I can relate to you my experience for Christmas 2018.

The current church music director decided a brass quartet would be nice to have on Christmas Eve.  He had a similar brass quartet for Christmas Eve 2017 and he was very satisfied.  I was not part of the 2017 effort because I was recovering from a November knee replacement surgery.

He was so satisfied with Christmas 2017 that he sent out the music on December 14th.  He then scheduled a 15 minute rehearsal that was later cancelled.  The first rehearsal with the music occurred at 3:30 pm on December 24th for a 4:30 service. The music director obtained a degree in organ at the Julliard School of Music in New York City and is a prodigy on organ or piano.  The quartet was comprised of two trumpets, a father and a son who each taught trumpet, a college student playing trombone as a major at the University of Minnesota, his mother who played trombone along with many other instruments, and me. The rehearsal lasted 5 minutes because "everyone knew the music".  Perhaps everyone excluding me knew the music because they were much better players than me but I could never say that I "knew the music".

I practiced the music for at least an hour per day from December 14th to December 23rd.  But practicing alone is not the same as rehearsing.  Rehearsing allows one to find out how fast the music will be played and how loud.  For someone like me who is, I admit it, mediocre at best, rehearsing the music a few times is invaluable. 

But the show had to go on.  The quartet had five pieces.  Four of the pieces were familiar Christmas hymns and for those I "knew the music" even though the trombone position placement was inaccurate for some notes.  The fifth piece was a different matter.  I played it with some minor goofs during the 5 minute rehearsal.  However,  at the church service I got horribly lost in the music as the other four members and the director went merrily along.

I like playing trombone.  However at this stage in my life if I would play the trombone with an established group outside of church I would probably be at the fourth level at the bottom chair which would probably me sitting in a chair in a cemetery by myself playing to a captive audience.

My Mother's Florida

My 87 year old mother has wintered for over two decades in a mobile home at a mobile home park in Rockledge, Florida.  In fact, the mobile home is permanent because it never moved from its location. Even so she needs to purchase a license plate and an occupancy sticker from the good people at the State of Florida Department of Transportation.

My mother looks forward to returning to Florida each winter. Besides better weather than what we have in Wisconsin, she looks forward to seeing fellow snowbirds from as far away as Canada who take residence in the mobile home park each year.

Rockledge is located in the middle of the state of Florida on the Atlantic Coast side near Cape Canaveral.  She can watch rockets launch from the Cape by simply walking out her front door, looking up at the sky,  and staring south. Rockledge was not affected by Hurricane Michael which wiped out Florida's western panhandle in 2018.  However in 2017, Hurricane Irma hit Rockledge with torrential rain.  My mother's mobile home is on blocks and managed to stay just above the water line for flooding occurring at the campground.  Her shed containing tools and gardening equipment tried to float away but stayed near her mobile home thanks to an outside electrical cord which was attached to her mobile home.

As she has gotten older and the TSA become meaner, we decided that she should be accompanied when she winters in Florida and when she returns to Wisconsin in the spring.   The TSA check that concerned us the most and caused us to accompany her to Florida occurred three years ago when she left by herself from Midway airport in Chicago.  The Midway TSA people essentially strip searched her.  That is why we now accompany her on her way down to Florida in fall and back to Wisconsin in spring. Now that Jean and I are both retired these trips are less constrained by time and so we can spend more time in Florida with her.  TSA appears to be less aggressive when three people go through the line together rather one single, older woman.

We flew down to Florida from Milwaukee with her on November 6th, the day of the fall elections.  All three of us went through the TSA pre-check line.  The TSA people were in a generally good mood (I even saw one smile) and we got through with minimal difficulty.  I assume they were in a fairly good mood despite or because of the election.  Because both my mother and I have steel in our legs from prior leg operations, we did need to go through their XRay machine and have a wand pass over all parts of our body before we could proceed to the departure gate. 

We stayed for 10 days. She did not appear to mind our intrusion into her Florida routine of visiting with neighbors, playing cards and bingo, and watching sports.  She is a great Brewers, UW football and basketball, and Packers fan.  She is happy when they win and also critical when they lose.  When one of her favorite teams has an especially painful loss she has a favorite phrase, "They stink!".

After an uneventful flight, my brother-in-law picked up us three from the Orlando airport and drove us the last leg to Rockledge. He and my sister, whom live in nearby Melbourne, opened up her mobile home, turned on her electricity, and made it ready for occupancy.  Jean and I stayed with her for our 10 day stay.

During our stay, Florida was in one word, hot.  Temperatures each day were in the upper 80s or low 90s and the humidity was high.  Locals said the weather was extremely hot for November.  The air conditioner in her mobile home ran the entire time we were there. We expected warm but not hot and so any outdoor activities were limited because of the heat.

At the campground we me her neighbors, had cook-outs, played cards, and relaxed.  Her friends organize a card game called Euchre, twice a week.  For a dollar, one can win as much as four dollars after playing 64 hands of Euchre.  All three of us participated in a Euchre tournament and each of us lost our $1 dollar entry fee.

Outside the campground, we participated in two trivia contests at a local bar with the name of Cheers, two movies, had a meal with my sister and brother-in-law and toured the Kennedy Space Center.

She looked forward to the trivia contest.  We found the trivia contest at Cheers last spring when we went down to bring her back to Wisconsin.  The trivia contest is a series of 20 questions from a local DJ named Mike.  It costs nothing to enter.  At our first try on November 7th, our team, my mother, me, and Jean, against 10 other teams led until the last question.  The last question was a Florida question regarding the length of one of the interstates in Florida.  We failed the question miserably and missed out on a $15 gift certificate to Cheers.  Our second try on November 14th, we ended up near the bottom.  But we ate food, drank beer, and had fun answering questions for two hours.  A sample question was, "What country has the largest number of Roman Catholics per capita?"  Our answer to the November 14th questions was Ireland.  The correct answer was Brazil.  After Mike read the correct answer part of the bar where the winning teams were erupted in applause.  She wants us to compete again next May and win this time.

The most interesting part of our Florida visit was the NASA Kennedy Space Center.  For $50 dollars apiece we had a tour of the entire property on an air-conditioned bus, saw exhibits for the Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, and Space Shuttle missions, and went to buildings housing an Apollo rocket and the Atlantis Space Shuttle.  $50 apiece may appear at first sight to be a lot of money but compared to other tourist sites in Florida such as Disneyworld where admission exceeds $100, it is a bargain.

The tour bus operator drove around a portion of the 144,000 acre property.  We could see the building where rockets are put together, Launch Pad 39, where most of the launches occur, and the SpaceX launch pad which is NASA's future.  NASA wants to focus on Mars and not the moon so it has entered into public/government partnerships for moon flights.  We were told we could take pictures of anything other than the guard shacks.  Pictures of the guard shacks meant automatic confiscation of your camera.  We also saw an alligator and the fencing NASA uses to keep alligators away from the launch pads. The fencing is about 7 feet high with concertina wire on top and is tilted outward because alligators can climb a fence and get into the complex if the fence position would be straight up and down.

Ideally it takes two days to tour the Kennedy Space Center because of the number of exhibits and the distance between exhibits. We had one day.  NASA developed shows regarding each of its development projects.  We went from Mercury to Apollo to the Space Shuttle.  NASA actually had the original control room for one of the Apollo missions functioning during one of  its presentations.  The size of the Mercury rocket and capsule was minute compared to the hardware developed for the Apollo and Space Shuttle missions.    You did not realize how big an Apollo rocket or a space shuttle was until you walked the entire length of both in their separate exhibits. According to NASA over 2.5 million parts had to work flawlessly in order to have successful Apollo and Space Shuttle missions.

 NASA had a separate exhibit directed to the astronauts who died in  the failure of Apollo 1, Columbia and Challenger. 

All told the Kennedy Space Center was the highlight of our Florida trip.  It was slightly higher than the time my mother rejoiced after supplying our trivia team a correct answer to a Cheers trivia question.

Based on our ten day stay with my mother, I now better understand her six months in Florida.  Where else can you swelter during a Wisconsin winter, play cards, meet interesting people, watch a missile launch, and disparage a Wisconsin sports team when they lose?

Fallen Rocks

Adventures good and bad occur at times when you least expect and with people you are sure they will never happen with.  Such is the case on Wisconsin 35 in mid-September with my wife and mother-in-law.

My wife's niece and her husband were married two years ago.  They started their marriage in her condominium but they both wanted to purchase a house.  They sold the condominium near River Falls, Wisconsin and purchased a house in New Richmond, Wisconsin.  Being proud of the new purchase, they soon invited people to a housewarming.  New Richmond is located between Eau Claire and River Falls.  My mother-in-law wanted to attend the housewarming but did not want to drive the distance, which took three hours by car, by herself.  So my wife and I drove from Madison to Prairie du Chien to pick her up.  We would then drive to La Crosse where we would join my wife's sister and husband.  The La Crosse contingent would then drive  all of us to New Richmond.

After picking my mother-in-law up on a bright, clear Saturday morning.  We then took the next step and began driving to La Crosse.

The drive from Prairie du Chien to La Crosse is scenic  Wisconsin 35 (WI 35) follows the Mississippi River.  It is a two lane highway carved out of bluffs which rise to the east of the highway in many places along the route.  Each encounter of bluffs carries a corresponding warning sign "Watch for Fallen Rocks".  There exists no follow-up sign telling you what to do if you encounter a "fallen rock" but the signs exist nonetheless.

I was driving our 2003 Honda Odyssey van with my wife and mother-in-law.  We could see boats in the river as well as towboats towing large quantities of barges along the Mississippi.

The drive was quite uneventful until I passed a "Watch for Fallen Rocks" sign near Ferryville, rounded a corner, and hit a rock the size of a lunchbox on the side of the road with the passenger front tire.  Seeing the rock was one thing.  Listening to the car hit the rock with a fearsome clunk was another. I thought we had blown a tire or worse and would be forced to pull off the road in an area where no shoulder existed.  However the car and the tire kept going.

The reaction from the passengers was immediate.  "Didn't you see the rock?  We saw it.  We don't believe you hit the rock!  Why did you hit that rock?  We saw it, didn't you?"

I was still a little stunned after hitting the rock.  My only response was, "Yes, I saw the rock but it was a little hard to miss it once I saw it."  

I did see the rock and due to oncoming traffic and the lack of a shoulder my mind apparently thought it was best, for safety purposes, to hit the rock rather than hitting someone straight on from the other direction or crash into the side of the bluff.  I agreed with the passengers assessment that missing the rock would have been the right move.

We drove a mile down the road until we could safely pull off to see the rock damage to the tire and/or van.  The turn off was a city road and there an older guy was cutting grass on a riding lawn mower next to the road.  We pulled up, stopped, and my wife and I  left the van to look at the damage.  There was a golf ball side bulge on the sidewall of the tire.  The old guy got off his riding lawn mower and sauntered over to the van.  He went over to the passenger side, looked at the bulge, sighed, and shook his head.

"Well, it doesn't look good.  Unfortunately the shops in town are closed on a Saturday afternoon.  I  can give you a name of a guy I know in town.  He may be able to fix it.  He might not be home because of course it is a Saturday afternoon, you know.   You could go up the hill where we are standing for about 10 miles.   There might be a feller there but it is a Saturday afternoon."

We thanked the old guy for his help or lack thereof.  We both returned to the van.

My wife made the decision about going 10 miles up the road or continuing on WI35.  "if Ferryville isn't open then why would 10 miles up the road be any different?"

I didn't have a different opinion. We decided the best route was to continue driving along WI35 albeit slower and hope the tire would hold out until we reached La Crosse which was 30 miles away.

The van moved along WI35 at or under 55 mph.  Because there are no areas to pass along  WI35 there were many frustrated motorists following our slow progress, although I  tried to keep to the 55 mph speed limit.  We passed Ferryville, Lynxville, Victory, De Soto, and Genoa.  Each town passed was a small victory because the bulging tire had not blown.

My wife called her sister and she advised us to drive to a tire change place when, or if, we made it to La Crosse.  We finally did make to La Crosse and the tire change place was closed on a Saturday afternoon.  The only other place to have a new tire installed was Walmart.  Walmart was open.  They did have a tire and they did replace the tire an hour after we visited the store.  The bulge on the side of the tire was now the size of a grapefruit.

We did make it to the housewarming uneventfully with my brother-in-law driving their Dodge Caravan.  We then came back the next day to La Crosse.  I then drove from La Crosse to Prairie du Chien in the Honda without further mishap.  I looked for my rock on the road near Ferryville and it was not there. 

I guess everything turned out fine.  However, I still  would have liked a follow-up sign telling me what to do when I hit a "fallen rock".

Crashing

My diabetic nurse two months ago was adamant, "You must exercise to keep your blood sugar numbers down!"

Her statement was not much of a surprise.  I was diagnosed as a Type II diabetic as a Christmas present in 1999.  Since then I had a number of discussions with people versed in diabetic knowledge.  The exercise part of the quarterly diabetes discussion was absent while I worked because I rode my bike back and forth to work for 10 months of the year.  I chickened out when we had lightning associated with thunderstorms, large quantities of snow associated with blizzards, and temperatures below 10 degrees Fahrenheit.

Now that I was retired,  not needing to ride my bicycle to work, and I could actually move my left leg in a circular motion after my November 20, 2017 knee replacement, I responded, "I will  ride my bike to keep my blood sugar in check."

The response was, "Good.  Ride at least an hour each day."

So I am now back to bike riding.  I enjoy the bike ride each morning unless it is raining or the bike breaks.  The bike's rear tire has a tendency to acquire broken spokes which stops the bike riding until the spokes are replaced.   I do not ride fast.  People pass me regularly and look back wondering how anyone can ride so slowly.    My one hour or more ride gives me time to think.  As I was riding one day, I thought, "I can't think of anything I am good at while riding a bike.  There must be something I am good at. "

My brain came up with the answer about something that I am exceptional at doing, crashing. After living for 63 years, one can take an introspective appraisal of strengths and weaknesses.  The inventory of strengths is a short list.  The length of weaknesses is considerably longer.  I am not sure whether crashing into something and hurting yourself should be taken as a strength or weakness.

My initial crash was when I was 10 months old and I was not the cause of the crash but the recipient.  My parents and I were riding along in a car.  I was in the front seat in a baby seat.  A car hit us broadside.  We all landed in the hospital. I went through a series of operations on my legs to correct problems with my legs as a result of the car crash.  

I can blame that crash on my parents but the rest of the crashes I must take responsibility.

My best friend in high school saved money and purchased a Harley Davidson motorcycle.  His motorcycle was the type termed a "hog".  I thought, at least I think was my idea, to also purchase a Harley Davidson motorcycle so that I could ride with him.  My problem was I had limited funds and a "hog" was not a possibility.  Another thought I had was that I was much more comfortable traveling on four wheels rather than two driving 60 miles per hour down a county road.  With limited funds, I was able to purchase a small Harley.  The Harley would get up to 60 on a county road if you pushed it.  The Harley had its troubles.  The battery would not function properly and the headlights would turn off when the battery was not fully charged.  The headlights would turn off while riding it which was against the law.  Unfortunately I did not know the headlights were off until I stopped the motorcycle. I think I rode with my friend once with our two Harleys when mine was in working order.

The motorcycle's light idiosyncrasy was not responsible for my most memorable motorcycle crash.

One day I decided to take the motorcycle into a friend's father's pasture to practice my motorcycle skills, which were not many.  I was riding up and down the pasture when I made a mistake and hit the gas rather than the brakes.  The motorcycle when careening into a barbed wire fence.  I tore up the fingers on my left hand which required stitches at a local hospital.  Shortly after that crash I parked the motorcycle in my friend's parent's garage and walked away.  I figured I was not a motorcycle rider and if I continued, I would hurt more than my fingers. I am not sure what he did with the motorcycle and I did not care.

The remaining notable crashes occurred with nonmotorized transportation, a bicycle.  A friend told me once,  "I saw a statistical analysis once.  People that ride bikes a lot tend to crash once every two years.  That is just the nature of bike riding."  I met his criteria for crashing based on his statistics.

I can crash at any time at any place in Madison.  I crashed twice along the Lake Monona bike path -- once in winter and once in fall.  I crashed once in the Pacific Cycle parking lot which is located a block from where I live.  I have also crashed into a tree that fell across  the Southwest bike trail going to work when it was pitch dark.  

I offer two stories about notable crashes, one on May 20, 2014 and the other on August 18, 2018, as proof of my superior crashing ability.

The May 20th crash occurred as I was coming around a curve near Commonwealth Avenue in Madison at about 5:15 a.m. in the morning.  While I was still working I would rise from my bed at 4 a.m., shower, dress, eat and be on my bike by 5 a.m.  I could then start working by 5:30 a.m.  I could work a full hour and  get work done before the telephone started to ring.  I also liked biking that early in the morning because, for the most part, I was the only one biking at that time in the morning.

As I rounded the curve, I saw a fallen tree on the bike path.  The tree came up so quickly I did not have time to stop or slow the  bike down.  The tree stopped the bike but not me.  I flew over the handle bars and landed on the other side of the tree on my left side.  I tore my biking shirt on the left side and my left elbow immediately started to hurt.  I laid on the bike path, stunned.  I guess I then started to moan. I walked to the side of the bike path and sat down.  Mosquitoes then descended on me and I was too shocked to swat at them.  I looked at my left elbow and it had doubled in size within a minute after me and it hitting the pavement.

The moaning brought results because a couple living along the bike path had heard the moans.  They at first thought it was an animal.  Because the moaning continued, they became curious and ventured down to see what all the noise was about.  They found me. 

The couple was very kind.  They asked me who I was and then called Jean to let her know I was not getting to work anytime soon.  They suggested she come, pick me up, and take me to the hospital.  The husband retrieved the twisted bike from the tree and moved the tree off the bike path. 

The telephone call from the couple woke Jean from a sound sleep.  They told her to drive down and retrieve me from the bike path. She decided to take their advice and arrived soon after to pick stunned me and the smashed bike from near the crash site.

We then had a short dive to the Meriter Hospital emergency room with the smashed bike watching from the back seat of our van.  The doctors and nurses were very kind at the emergency room and cleaned and bandaged my left elbow.  They waited to laugh about my crash until after Jean and I left the emergency room.

As I remember, I did go back to work that day.  It took two months before my left elbow looked normal again.

My August 18th crash was not nearly as exciting as the May 20th crash but this time I crashed on my right side rather than the left side.  I am an equal opportunity crasher.

From where I live, I enter the Southwest bike path by going up an incline to a bridge which spans the major road in Madison called affectionately the Beltline.  As I was going up the incline another biker was coming down.  I tried to move over so that I would not hit the oncoming biker.  I overcompensated and the bike's front wheel slipped on the incline.  I went down.   I hit on my right side right in the middle of the incline.

The oncoming biker stopped, "Are you ok?  I was on my side of the rode.  You just lost it!"

My response was a moan.

"Did you break something?"

"No, I just think I skinned my right elbow."

"Let me see.  You did do a number. It is bleeding.  I will wet it down with water and wash off the dirt."  He used my water to wet it down and wash some of the dirt from the wound.   "I think you will be ok.  I am going on. Good luck."

I then sat down on a bench located near the ramp  for 15 minutes gathering my wits.  I blew out the front tire of the bike and so I could not ride the bike back home.  I walked the bike back home.

After I arrived home, Jean patched me right elbow.  I did not need the emergency room for this crash which was fortunate.  After a month, my right elbow is now looking normal again.

I did crash the next week but not with my bike.  I tripped on a decorative fence while fetching the mail from our house's front mailbox.  I fell into our split hardwood fence and knocked down the fence.  I also tore the skin in certain areas around my stomach.  This was a rather inconsequential crash and so there was no moaning involved.  I save the moaning for bike crashing.

So you see I may not ever be good at speed or endurance while riding my bicycle to keep my blood sugar down.  When other bikers pass me and look back wondering "How can anybody go that slow?" I can smile at them because I know I am better at one thing than they are, crashing.    I am not sure whether I should be or should not be proud of that accomplishment. Perhaps I should look back at them and moan rather than smile.

Ants

We lived in this house since April 1986 and our experiences with vermin has been limited.  We have seen the occasional spider inside the house in the initial years and other than a scream from the female occupants, there was no concern. In the last few years the insect assault on the house increased to where we had to decide whether it would be the insects or us residing in the house.

I should mention before I forget that ten years ago we had bumble bees take residence under the stoop outside the front door.  Our approach had always been live and let live for any organism living outside the four walls of the house.  That mantra took a hit when the bumble bees stung the youngest daughter, at that time of high school age, as she walked out the front door.  After the trauma of the sting, the bumble bees received their death sentence and a bee exterminator meted out their punishment.  After that incident, any insect seen inside or outside died.  Our live and let live credo turned into "make them die" once the insect assault moved inside the house.

After that initial bee assault, the insects left us alone until three years ago.  The replacement insect to the dead bumble bees were tiny ants.  The ants dubbed "pavement ants" are smaller than a paper clip. Their small size allows them to breed in almost any space.  They are very good at breeding and can manufacture an army of ants in short order under, it appears, any weather condition.

At first the ant invasion started slowly.  We found a few in the cellar. Then we found a few in the half bathroom.  Then we found a few in the main upstairs bathroom.  After a few weeks and  the initial incursion we found ants all over the house.  The ant population increased so there were significant numbers anywhere in the house.  They were especially numerous in the basement where they were coming out of cracks in the pored cement foundation.  They were in the kitchen.  They were in the fruit of the kitchen table. They even tried crawling into people's mouths as the unfortunate person rested in a chair.

I tried to curb the invasion.  I bought different insecticides from Home Depot.  The insecticides would temporarily pause their invasion but they were at invasion level a few hours after the insecticide.  I knew we were in trouble when one day I peered at our sidewalk in the front of the house and saw a mass of ants moving from one side of the driveway to the other.  The ant cluster moved food and future ants for a major attack on the house.  I tried spraying them with the Home Depot insecticide.  The insecticide killed a few ants but the vast army continued across the sidewalk unhindered.

We were losing the ant war.  We decided it was time to take the offensive and hire an exterminator. 

The first exterminator claimed extensive success in Dane County, our county, and guaranteed the ant problem would be solved.  They came and sprayed a few times in the fall.  The ants took a hit.  Little ant bodies were strewn all over the basement.  The east side floor was covered in dead ants.  The first exterminator claimed success and walked away after receiving payment.

The first exterminator was wrong.  The ants were not done.  During the winter alive ants became more and more numerous in the house until they approached their fall levels.

The next spring we decided to use a different exterminator, Orkin.  Bruce, the Orkin man, would come and spray the inside and outside of the house with chemicals every two months during the year. 

Bruce's initial sprayings were effective.  We had piles of dead ants along walls in the basement.  After six months of spraying however, the ants made a comeback and we were again seeing ants upstairs in the kitchen and bathrooms.

I thought six months of spraying should be enough to stem the ant invasion.  I called Orkin and suggested Bruce be accompanied by his manager with the next spraying.  Bruce and the manager then could figure out why the spraying was not effective.

Bruce and his manager completed the next spraying.  The manager instructed Bruce to use more insecticide and spray in areas he had missed (or neglected).  After that visit, the ant invasion appeared to be if not stopped, then paused.

For the past six months we have seen only an occasional ant in the house. These scout ants have not made it back to their colonies and we have remained relatively ant free.

The ants are still out there and have not given up on their house invasion.  I find them in large numbers climbing on certain parts of the outside siding.  I then spray them with the Home Depot concoction.  The Home Depot insecticide kills the ants if sprayed directly on the ants.  By routinely walking around the house after Bruce does his spraying, noticing when the ants start their invasion mode, and spraying some of the invasion forces, I hope to keep them out of the house.

Hopefully we can keep the ants under control with the help of Orkin, Bruce, and Home Depot.  Nothing disrupts your sleep more than having a pavement ant crawl into your mouth while you are sleeping.

The Big Move

Laura, our 31 year old daughter moved from our house to an apartment on July 7, 2018.  She and her male cat, Lennie, lived in one apartment until 2014.  She was laid off her job and moved back with us, her parents, until this year.  She now has a job where she believed she makes enough money to support her and her cat while paying rent.  This led to her decision in May to move to an apartment.

The first step in moving is to find an affordable apartment in a nice neighborhood in the Madison area.  The task sounds easy but is  not.  Apartment vacancies in Madison and the surrounding areas are less than 5%.  Having a major employer paying premium wages in the area, EPIC Systems in Verona, and thus driving up apartment rents, make it that much harder.

Laura and her mother, Jean, started the apartment viewing in June.  They toured two apartment complexes in one day.  The first apartment had a cheery guy stating the apartments were clean, kept up, and some of the best in Madison.  A tour of one of these apartments demonstrated the guy was either drunk, on drugs, or blind because the apartment was dirty and disgusting.  The second apartment complex in Middleton was a large complex where the person showing the apartments transported people in golf carts.  The showing of this complex at first impressed Laura but later, after visiting it again, made her reevaluate her initial assessment.

I was added the apartment finding contingent in the next round of apartment hunting.  We first viewed a loft apartment in a smaller building.  I did not know what a loft was but found out it was a no bedroom apartment with an upper story having a bathroom and enough room for a bed.  On that same day, we viewed a brand new apartment complex.  The cheapest apartment was an efficiency meaning there was barely room to put a bed.  Although the efficiency was nice, the location was not and so that apartment was removed from consideration.

The first decision was then made to go with the loft apartment for a number of reasons.  The apartment was located near work, the cat was allowed to stay for no additional charge, it was located in a safe neighborhood, a storage area was provided at no additional charge, and her car was housed in underground parking under the apartment building.  The apartment was also located about five miles from our house so the move would not take long as far as distance.

The apartment needed some work before she could move in.  The prior residents failed to pay rent and left in the cover of darkness.  For some reason they left a large amount of food.  The refrigerator contained steaks, eggs, condiments, milk, etc.  The cupboards held two types of flour and sugar.  Despite the lease stating no smoking, there was a definite smoke smell.  One of the prior residents had colored their hair red and the dye was located in the bathroom and an area of the carpeting.  The carpeting needed shampooing and the whole apartment needed paint.  Erin, the apartment manager, assured us the food would be gone, the place painted, and the carpet shampooed by the end of June because she had an outstanding maintenance guy.  Erin was true to her word and the apartment was ready for occupation on July 1st.

The next big move decision was how to get Laura's belongings from our house to the apartment.  Jean and I toured our house to assess what needed to be moved.  Laura had a large number of boxes in the basement, her bed and clothes in her upstairs bedroom, and another series of boxes in a spare bedroom.  We looked at the boxes in the basement which had to be hauled up a flight of stairs in our house, her bed which had to be hauled up a flight of stairs in her apartment, and decided we did not want to climb up all of those steps.  Because I had a knee replaced in November 2017 and Jean was looking at a hip replacement later this year, we decided our moving days were over and we would hire someone to complete the move.

I then contacted three moving companies in Madison: Above Average Movers, You Move Me, and Badger Brothers Moving.  I received quotes from all three.  The quotes were similar in that the company would supply two movers and a truck.  You supplied the movable items and the money to pay for the move.  Each of the three companies had excellent credentials on the Internet and so it came down to a matter of price.  Badger Brothers Moving was slightly cheaper and we decided to go with that company.

The move was scheduled for July 7th.  From June 29th through July 7th, excluding July 4th, we worked at getting things organized at home and the new apartment.  On June 29th, Laura was notified by Erin the apartment was painted, the food left by the former occupants was gone, and the carpets were cleaned.  She handed Laura the keys and we began getting the apartment ready for her occupancy.  The bathroom had to be cleaned, kitchen cupboards padded with contact paper, and the carpeting recleaned because it still retained that cigarette smoke odor.  All of the tasks were completed by July 6th.  We were now ready for July 7th.

Promptly at 8 a.m. a large unmarked truck pulled up to our house.  The truck was too big to back into the driveway and so parked in the street.  The truck was large enough to hold furniture for an entire house. 

Rather than two burly guys walking up to the house from the truck, there were two average medium height guys.  They walked into the house and introduced themselves as Ben and Andrew.  They then got to work.  Ben hauled boxes to the truck while Andrew carefully wrapped bubble wrap and blankets around furniture.  After Andrew completed the wrapping then he assisted Ben in loading boxes and furniture into the truck.  Ben and Andrew worked steadily for two hours and never took a break.

Ben and Andrew then drove the truck to the apartment.  The apartment was on the second floor.  The loft required climbing another staircase.  Ben and Andrew worked steadily for two and a half hours.  They moved the boxes and the furniture into the apartment.  They also set up the bed in the loft.

After the four and a half hours of lifting and climbing steps, Andrew and Ben admitted they were slightly tired but after eating a meal they should be ready for the evening.  We marveled at how good a shape each of them were.    After paying the Badger Brothers Moving fee and giving Andrew and Ben a tip, Ben and Andrew and the large truck left.

We were then left to unpack boxes, hang pictures, and get the cat organized. All of this work took three days to complete.

Everything was accomplished.  Jean and I again are empty nesters.  Laura is in her apartment.  The cat is happy as long as it gets fed twice a day.

Hamilton Street Dilemma

I was to attend a meeting of former and current DNR folks at a local eating establishment, the Great Dane located in downtown Madison on May 30th.  Although the Great Dane serves food the real enticement is the beer they brew on-site.  The beer helps in discussing past and current DNR trials and tribulations in a small or large gathering of DNR folks.

Driving a car from outside downtown to downtown and then finding a parking place is always an adventure in itself.  Downtown at any time of the year is being constructed or destructed.  In 2018 the destruction/construction occurs along the major traffic routes.  For me, I had to negotiate construction on West Washington and then determine how much of the one way streets around the capital were drivable because of the city's $156 million Judge Doyle Square project which, it just so happens, part of it is happening next to the Great Dane.

My 4 pm route took me past the construction barrels on West Washington, turning right at the stoplight on Fairchild Street, and stopping at the stoplight on Hamilton Street, and then continuing on to a parking place and the Great Dane.

I stopped at Hamilton Street on a yellow light not wanting to enter the intersection on a red light due to a better than even chance a cop could be on the corner  because the east side of Hamilton and Doty Street houses the Dane County Courthouse.  The police are known to be liberal in handing out tickets in downtown Madison.  I also noticed a police officer on the corner, an old lady pushing a walker, and another old lady pushing a guy in a wheelchair.

I stopped in the right lane and the guy in the left lane two cars back did not appreciate people stopping at the stoplight.  He immediately was on his car horn.

Beep. Beep.

The loud, obnoxious horn was continuous.

Hamilton Street going west up the street  has a rather steep incline.  The Hamilton Street and Doty Street intersection is also wide at the intersection.

Both the old lady with the walker and the old lady pushing the guy in the wheelchair wanted to get across the street and had to negotiate the grade to get to the other side of the road. The old lady with the walker went first followed 20 yards later by the old lady pushing the wheelchair.  They both struggled going up the hill through the intersection.

The stoplight turned from red to green.  Neither party was across the intersection.  The guy with the horn continued.  Beep! Beep!

The young cop viewing the situation from the corner of the intersection was trying to decide how to intervene. He had a dilemma.  He paced back and forth.  You could see the indecision on his face.  He could see the old ladies struggling to get through the intersection and hear the guy with the horn. Should he direct traffic?  Should he help the old lady with the walker or the old lady pushing the wheelchair?  What should he do about the guy with the incessant horn?  He walked along the side of the intersection trying to decide.

Beep! Beep!  The guy with the horn refused to stop.

The cop decided he had enough of the guy with the horn.  He walked out into the intersection as the old lady with the walker and the old lady pushing the wheelchair continued to struggle across the road.

The cop walked into the intersection and pointed to the car with the horn, "Stop the horn. Now!", he commanded.

The car horn stopped.  The light turned red.  The two old ladies continued their struggles and finally accomplished their goal of reaching the other side of the road.   The cop stood in the road glaring at the car emitting the car horn annoyance.  He walked back to his original spot on the side of the intersection as the light turned green.  The intersection was finally cleared and I could proceed to find a parking place so that I could attend my meeting at the Great Dane.

It might not be believable but other events happen in downtown Madison other than construction and politics.

Snow Job

In Wisconsin everyone knows the quote "in Wisconsin there are two seasons construction and winter". The winter part of the quote infers a large percentage of the year is cold and snowy. Some people reposition the snow manually while others get mechanical help.

For many years I toted the newly fallen snow  from one location to another manually.  About 15 years ago the family decided that I needed help and they bought this one stage Toro snowblower for me.  The Toro performed admirably until five years ago when it came upon a mountain of snow at the foot of our driveway piled there by a huge city-owned snowplow.  The Toro succumbed to the snow pile and burned up.  The Toro was brought to a nearby small engine center and the owner said at its autopsy that it was not repairable.

After the Toro went to the great junk yard in the sky, the family authorized me to find a replacement.  Knowing the Toro was too small to handle six foot snow piles at the end of the driveway, we purchased an Ariens 22 inch two stage snow blower.  We were assured by the salesman the Ariens would handle any mountain of snow  the city placed in front of the driveway.

The Ariens was a challenge from the beginning.  It would not start.  The procedure to start it was to turn the key, prime the carburetor, and then either pull the rope or push the button for the electric start.  Occasionally the Ariens would start and just as soon stop. After a half hour of frustration, the Ariens was placed in its comfortable garage location and then I would shovel the snow manually.

The Ariens was driven back to the dealer for repair work.  The Ariens was a heavy machine.  It took two people to load it into the back seat of our Honda minivan and then another two people to unload it at the dealership.  The dealership would look at it, proclaim nothing was wrong, and then call to tell me to pick it up.  I would return with the Ariens, it would snow and again it would not start.  We would then take it back to the dealership and the whole circle of repair would begin again.

The circle of repair happened three times.  I told a neighbor about the continued frustration regarding the Ariens.  He suggested I bring the Ariens to a different dealership where they had people with technical degrees in small engines.  I did as he suggested.

The new people stated the problem was with the carburetor.  Ariens outsources some of its parts to China.  The Chinese may be adequate in a number of areas but snow blower carburetors was not one of them.  The new guys rebuilt the carburetor, with a cost, and the Ariens at the end of the snow season two years ago finally started up with a small amount of  effort.

Since the carburetor was rebuilt, we have not had a major snowstorm.  A fixed Ariens snow blower scares the major snowstorms away.  This winter the Ariens kept the snow away until March and April.

In the middle of March we had a snowfall where the Ariens could move some snow.  I started the Ariens up and we went after the snow.  After about 30 minutes of snow blowing the Ariens decided to push the snow.  Snow was no longer blown out of the chute.

My neighbor and I looked at the Ariens.  We looked at the shaft which augurs the snow to the chute.  It was broken in two.  My neighbor was amazed because he never saw anyone break a shaft in two.  He admired my skill and suggested that I tried to blow a tree through the chute and that is why the shaft was now in two pieces.  I try to avoid trees whether I am riding a bicycle or snow blowing and so I thought his claim was a little suspect. However, he has two snow blowers to my one and so I guess he is wiser than me and I accepted his explanation.

The Ariens again went back to the new dealership to have the shaft replaced.  It took them three weeks to repair the Ariens and $300.

The Ariens returned just in time for the last snowstorm of the season in mid-April.  I pulled the starter rope and the Ariens ran on the first pull.  That was great.  I then pointed the Ariens to the snow.  The augur ran but nothing came out of the chute.  The Ariens again pushed the snow up the driveway.

My neighbor came over and we again checked out the Ariens.  We compared the Ariens to a similar unit of another neighbor.  From our comparison it appeared the new dealership reversed a plate where the augur pushes the snow to the chute.  That plate blocked the snow rather than allowing it to be ejected through the chute. Consequently, the Ariens pushed the snow rather than blowing it.

The Ariens returned to the new dealership for a correction.  The Ariens returned to its comfortable garage spot a week later after the plate was reversed.  By that time the snow season was over and so I do not know if it will blow the snow or push the snow until the next major snowfall.

So sometime in late 2018 or early 2019, the Ariens snowblower and I will assault a city-developed snow pile.  If the Ariens starts and I can point it to the snow, the snow may actually blow out of the chute.  Of course if the tires do not work then I will be back to manually removing the snow.

Gardening

Despite the 3 inch April 3rd or five inch April 15th snowfall, people do occasionally say the word "spring" in conversation.  When I hear the word "spring", my mind returns two words "gardening" and  "failure".  My parents taught me well how to be a failed gardener and I lived up to those lofty expectations over the last 38 years.

Gardening was an activity my parents completed every year with a dogged determination.  One reason to garden was to provide food for five kids, four boys and one girl. Another reason, the more important reason, was to save money on food despite the fact thy both had jobs and had enough income to buy what was produced in the garden from a grocery store.  When you factor in the time, cost of seed, and the amount of failures, I doubt that our garden production was much cheaper than buying it at the store. The produce from the garden might have been cheaper due to cheap labor from the kids, of course, if the garden produced some type of edible product.

In the early years, my dad had a garden located in back of the house.  He planted peas, beans, corn, potatoes, radishes, lettuce, kohlrabi, tomatoes, and Swiss chard.  The soil was not very fertile but he and my mother worked hard to have the garden produce something.  My dad even invested money in a rototiller so the soil would be at optimum consistency for plant growth.  He would always have some plants produce vegetables while others failed.  The failed plants and the successful plants each year were different.  The difference depended on the weather, animals, and the kid's routes through the garden taken to retrieve balls or visit friends.

Allow me to supply more information on the rototiller. A rototiller is a contraption consisting of blades in the front with a mounted gasoline engine.  The gasoline engine powers a belt turning the blades of the machine which then dig into the ground and loosen the soil.

We had this rototiller for many years and it churned soil in gardens in back of the house,  the House Garden and a later, larger garden a block away, the Depot Garden.  Anyone using the rototiller would become tired after a limited amount of  time because as the rototiller churned dirt that was either extremely or mildly compacted, the rototiller would buck like a crazed horse.  Keeping it in line required a lot of energy from the attending person. Neither my parents, mainly my dad, or us kids, when we were old enough to steer the rototiller, were enthused about operating it.

We suffered while operating the rototiller for a number of years until near the end of its useful life.  One day a neighbor borrowed the rototiller to complete some work in his yard.  He returned the rototiller and said he "fixed it".  He explained fixing it meant changing the direction of the blades.  He said we would notice a marked improvement in performance.  We did.  No longer did the rototiller buck but it dug into the soil and tilled it without much effort.  My dad, who passed along to me his lack of  mechanical ability, was astonished and could never explain why the blades were installed the wrong way and kept that way over many years of gardening.

My dad was not happy with the production of the House Garden decided one year to move the garden.  The production of the House Garden was hampered by soil infertility and the kids playing whiffle ball, softball, hardball, and football also in the same area.  The garden had trouble producing when the plants were trampled.

My dad was a railroad agent and the depot where he worked was a block from our house.  Someone, whether it was the railroad or someone else, had a large area in back of the railroad depot that was swamp. (Today a house sits on our garden spot.)  My dad decided it was an excellent spot for a garden.  The new Depot Garden was 3 times larger than the House Garden.  In addition to the items planted in House Garden he added strawberries, raspberries, and rows of tomatoes. 

The people located next door to the Depot Garden where in a descriptive word, "weird".  Doctor Gene, his wife Daisy, and their vicious dog peered at us as we toiled on the Depot Garden.  Doctor Gene was tall and slight and no one ever knew why he was called Doctor Gene.  He watched us as he worked in his garden while  Daisy  sang off-tune church hymns.  The dog would be constantly growling.

 Our family was always on the cusp of terror.  What would happen if Doctor Gene's dog got loose and decided to visit the garden?  Who would die first?  This concern worked its way out when I went to college.  Daisy died first.  Doctor Gene died a few years after Daisy.  The day after Doctor Gene died the police department was summoned  to take the dog to the pound.  The dog did not cooperate and attacked the cop. In an act of self-defense, the cop shot the dog.  To our family members the death of the dog allowed us to relax while working in the garden trying to avoid sunstroke and mosquitoes.

The Depot Garden was much more productive than the House Garden.  The problem with the Depot Garden was the time needed to make it productive.  We had to keep weeds from assaulting the strawberries, raspberries, beans and other produce .  We also had to hill rows and rows of potatoes. Most of this work was done in the late afternoon when the air in the garden was cooler.  However, when it was cooler the mosquitoes descended on the Depot Garden in swarms and it was pure agony working  even with liberally applied mosquito spray that did not deter the mosquitoes but made you a target. If the mosquitoes were absent then other insects, snakes, spiders, and mice took their place as a distraction.  For example,  the snakes liked to climb the raspberry bushes to sun themselves.  If you were removing weeds and counting the minutes until sundown, looking up and seeing a snake made your heart move a few more beats per minute.

We had an over-abundance of produce from the Depot Garden.   My parents, led by my mother, spent a good part of their extra time in September and October canning.  The big item for canning was tomatoes although pickles were canned when the tomatoes were ripening and awaiting their turn.  They canned tomato juice, stewed tomatoes, whole tomatoes, and some other concoctions with a tomato base. 

The kids, who could not escape working on the tomatoes, were employed grinding par boiled  tomatoes so the seeds were captured and the remainder of the tomato became juice.  At first my parents tried the deception that grinding tomatoes was fun.  This deception worked for the first bushel of tomatoes.   After the first bushel the grinder saw through the deception and quickly determined cranking tomatoes was tedious and hot and knew the only reason they were grinding was because my parents did not want to do it themselves.  The grinder then snuck away using excuses such as going to the bathroom or doing homework even if school was not in session.  As we got older, we got wiser and did not go anywhere near the kitchen when bushels of tomatoes were sitting outside the door. My parents were then left to grind tomatoes for some nights into the wee hours of the morning.

As a kid one learned to love, or at least tolerate, tomatoes after a successful tomato canning season.  Tomatoes of some type were incorporated into most at home lunches and dinners.  I do know people that cannot stand eating tomatoes or tomato byproducts today.  I wonder how they ever got away with this tomato avoidance when they were younger.

Even the Depot Garden had failures. However, the kids did not feel a failure was bad because the failed plants would not need weeding.  Failure would allow more times to pursue fun activities such as playing ball and sleeping.

That was many years ago.  Currently, our house has much less area and is even more infertile than my parent's House Garden.

The infertility of the land was a surprise to me because a farm was located here before the subdivision was built. You would think the soil would be fertile from the nutrients furnished by the farm animals.  In the first years of owning the house, I tried a garden in the southwest corner of the property, a garden along the west side of the house, and a garden on the southeast corner of the property.  All of the gardens were miserable failures.  The reasons for failure besides the infertile soil was lack of sun, too much sun, and lack of rain.

But I have continued trying to get something to grow. 

"Why?", do you ask.  "Madison has the best farmer's market.  He can buy all the stuff he tries to plant and someone else would have all of the headaches!"

To be perfectly honest, I have asked that question to myself many times.  I guess it has something to do with the House and Depot gardens of my parents.  I want to think I have the ability to grow something edible even if it does not turn out that way.  I believe, which over time has not been true, that I can fail less than my parent's two gardens.

My garden now consists of four boxes filled with dirt.  Because the boxes are relatively small I can add the nutrients the plants need to grow without adjusting the nutrients to account  for the many rocks in the soil. The four boxes sometimes grow beans, tomatoes, and lettuce.  Failures include raspberries, squash, cucumbers, and melons.

Not all of the failures can be blamed on the boxes.  We have an assortment of critters that attack the boxes. All of this occurs in a city.  We have rabbits the size of small gunboats,  opossum, squirrels, chipmunks, and birds.  They stage attacks at different times during the growing season and their attacks are usually successful destroying most of the plants starting to grow or growing at that time.  I have tried to erect barriers around each box over the last few years using chicken wire and PVC pipes.  This prevention has not worked.  This year I will need to construct something using wood, which is not something I am looking forward to nor good at doing.

Because of all the failures, I have decided to acquire some expert help.  I view YouTube.  One guy advised to buy a sack of MiracleGro potting soil, plant some seeds, and place it in some sun.  Voila, the plants grow and give you endless produce.  I tried the suggestion and the rabbits ravaged the plants shortly after the seeds came up producing a lot less than the guy in the YouTube video advertised. Another guy showed you how to grow vegetables in a bucket. I had some success with that approach although the buckets were used as a rearing spot for  an impressive number of spiders. Some of the YouTube presenters also had innovative, odoriferous ways to prevent animals from attacking the garden. I don't think spraying urine around the yard would be acceptable to my neighbors.  The YouTube presenter did not mention in his video where his property was located in relation to a neighbor.  Perhaps his neighbors left after his garden protection spraying. 

I also have books on the subject.  Mel wrote two books on square foot gardening.  He divides his boxes into square foot blocks.  He then plants different plants in each square foot box.  The pictures in his books are flawless.  I tried doing what Mel wrote and the problem is that some of the plants are more aggressive than other plants.  The aggressive plants shade out the more timid plants and killing or limiting the size of the companion plants. A picture of my square foot garden would not make Mel's book.

I do have some hope this year, as I do every year.  I do have an electric rototiller with the blades turned in the right direction.   I can work nutrients into the soil with the rototiller.  I have more time because I am not working.  My neighbor across the street has been aggressive in reducing the number of rabbits, opossum, squirrels, and chipmunks.  As a resource my parents never had, I still have Mel and YouTube.

So, hope springs eternal; that is if spring ever comes.

Perhaps I will have some success this year.  However, I have to be realistic after all of these years of gardening and expect failure. As Winston Churchill said:

"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm."

If that quote is true then I am very enthusiastic.