Friday, November 13, 2009

Note that Windows Live Writer refuses my invitations to employment. Note that my ISP is inop. Note I am cool with all this.

Note that I have called my ISP. Note that my ISP told me THEY were having problems and were doing the best they could. Note that as of 0600 hrs I called. Note that my ISP said they thought they would have the problem fixed within two and a half hours.

Note that I wondered what the problem was. Note that the ISP refained from stating the obvious - that if they knew, they wouldn't have a problem.

Note I privately thought, at first blush, my ISP was getting too large to provide services.

Note that Windows Live Writer, an adjunct of Microsoft, still does not work.

Note that I will not give up thinking companies get too large to perform well.

And, finally, Note that I am somewhat ashamed of wondering aloud as to the problem my ISP was searching.

I dislike showing the world I'm much more stupid than I really am.
_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Some time ago – like several months – I promised I would show and tell about an old stone house out in the country. Way out in the country.

I didn’t really promise when.

I’m cleaver that way.

A couple of years ago I started using a GPS. My Buddy down South and I found nooks and corners of the county neither suspected. He being more surprised than I, because he is native to the area.

My crosswise thought was for the people that hid the treasures we sought with the GPS. Those folks were not native to the county either and it amazed me how they found the areas to which they guided us.

I went looking, yesterday, for the stone house figuring I’d put it off long enough.

There are several ways into the remote area of the house. I chose to go first to the location of the Iron Sculptures I posted about in July, not having been in that area since. An item of interest, several of the sculptures are gone. I didn’t stop to check being on a quest. That is now on my to do list.

I had pre-chosen my route, over roads I was certain I’d not been on before.

As you can see, I chose roads I was certain I’d not been on before.

I love low water crossings. Really.

I don’t have four wheel drive and the truck is empty (read no weight), so I didn’t attempt this one.

  That’s only about six feet to the water down there, but my truck is still fairly new. Don’t you know.

So, to make a short story longer, I’m currently sitting at home in my middle management chair alternating between my free 2010 calendar, this post and the map of the area I THINK the old stone house way out in the county resides.

See? You thought I’d forgotten all about it.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

On this Veterans Day, This Year of Our Lord,

2009

From Me to You

Thank You for Your Thanks

You’re Welcome

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, November 09, 2009

The common mans view point on most any subject is relatively difficult to transmit to other common men. It is also difficult to understand.

One of the more difficult concepts participated in by the common man is acceptance of subjugation to the consensus – usually set by uncommon men.

Years and years ago, I had occasion to have some knowledge of the West European/East European border lands as levied by governments of uncommon view points and goals.

Miles and miles of concrete. Miles and miles of barbed wire. Miles and miles of political philosophy. Shoot to kill areas (red lines; dead man zones).

Taking a train from Bremen to Munich to Stuttgart would take one along the border of West and East.

It was interesting to watch the common man in group during the journey. From Bremen South the group would be happy, joyful and into their activities aboard their train. Conversation loud, boisterous and outgoing.

At a point the rails, trundling along the river bottoms, swung rather sharply along the East side bluffs and, there along the tops of the hills stood fencing, fifteen feet high, clear zones on either side, gun towers at each kink in the terrain, concertina wire (razor wire) reinforced, East met West.

The conversation would die. The boisterous outgoing comradely interaction halt. Silence.

And the common man stared.

At something he accepted. Had assisted in creating, lead by uncommon men, and of which they now hated and wished gone, and prayed would be otherwise.

Hundreds of thousands of common men dedicated their lives to the removal of that fence sundering Europe from itself.

And an uncommon man, using the powers subtle and brute, eventually achieved the reversal of the proliferation of that wall.

The train, of course, did not halt. As the flow of history does not halt.

Neither, if history is correct, does the acceptance by the common man of the dictates of the uncommon mans desires.

A pity that.

But I’m happy the wall is gone.

And happy that I, as a common man, assisted in resisting the will of the uncommon desire to separate.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Sunday, November 09, 2009

Sitting in the office watching the shuttles take-off and land at the distant ‘port, beyond the impressive sky line of the city, is relaxing.

Everything is ordered, scripted and everyone follows the script. Closer, and far below, in the canyon like depths of the streets order flows, but with a generally higher chaotic factor. The script is still followed, it’s just the crowds cause people to take what they can get away with.

This pause between work and more work is a good thing. I’m due in court with a client within the hour. That thought drags history to mind as the every two minute parade of vehicles appear on the short glide path and then disappear below the ‘Ports perimeter buildings.

Way back . . . in 2009, common era, I think it was, the Democratic Party rammed through one of the greatest changes to the laws of the country ever.

Giving rise to what we have now.

Sigh.

Well, time for the client.

He’s been accused of killing a city counsel member. He’s told me that he had killed the counsel member – but I cannot, will not, tell the court that. That’ll be for the prosecutor to “prove” to  the court. Vestiges of “Old Law,” I’ve heard it called. More modern thinking demands that, should the client confess the crime to the defense lawyer, the “confession” be rendered immediately to the court and the defensive apparatus is immediately dismissed and judgment rendered.

It is not against the rules, the script, for the defense lawyer to NOT tell. Generally, the act of not telling is viewed as the lawyers attempt at experience. To gain trial experience, or use experience to jigger the prosecutor and his “record.” I must admit the pleasure of “winning” is enjoyable.

In this case, I don’t think I’ll win. They have video of his strangling the counsel member at the hearing to shrink, one more time, the living space of “Old Folks.” Killing a counsel member is far more serious than if he’d killed his wife and two kids. I fear for this fellow. I really do.  

We’ll see. I think I’ve found ways to mitigate some of the evidence against my client.

Umph. Time to go.

_

That went badly. Very badly.

Despite throwing up all defenses I could think of, the court found him guilty. I’d thought the video had given me an out. I mean; claiming the back ground noise present drowning out the quietly spoken statement of the police telling my client to release the neck of the counsel member was an excellent defense, as the law states “a raised voice is an assault” and the police are forbidden to shout at anyone, or for that matter, anyone to shout at anyone.

I don’t think I’ll forget the sequence of the sentencing.

First the Judges statement:

“The assault of a superior person by an inferior is intolerable and an offense to good order. The killing of appointed or elected authority is anarchy and in the greatest of bad taste. You, client, would have faired far better killing your closest friend or wife, than you will, must, fair in this conviction of killing Officials.

There is no justification in such acts.

I hereby sentence you to forefiture of all pay and allowances for a period of sixty days. Further, you personally will receive twelve lashes of the cat o’ nine tails and severance of two fingers of your right hand.

Your wife and children, unto your grand child present, will serve the pertinence, excepting the lashing and severance of fingers, with you.

Defense counsel – you will explain within the hour the forefiture to your client.

Court dismissed.”

Yes. Badly. It went very badly.

It took me over an hour to explain to the client that “forefit” meant that once he had received his lashes and amputation, within the observation of his family, he and they would be released through the front door. But they would not be allowed to return to their home, it now being locked against them. They had lost their ration cards, they would be unable to draw their daily meals from the community mess. They had lost their clothing allowance and the clothes they were wearing were all they could have, in which ever condition they found them after the operation. No free transportation, no water services. Nothing. The citizens would be under prohibition of assisting them.

Because, you see, client, all these things were privileges, not rights – such as living and breathing, because those after all are the only two right one is born with. All else is privilege.

Client and his family were taken away crying.

_

It is difficult explain the madness that infects the human breast at times. Respect for Superiors and Authority, will, I suppose, become second nature eventually.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, November 06, 2009

In a time beyond memory. In a land I remember not. I believed. Over taken with piety, the smallest of life inspired faith and my companions likewise shared my devotion.

We rose early, hymned our prayers, and set forth each day to tend that which was given and, in the words of Abbot Dictator, that which we earned.

The Abbot had, at times, a wry view of life as we knew it; and of the peoples in it.

Life changed one day.

Oh, it wasn’t the Saxon, nor the barbarians from the North. Nothing so exciting. I was sent, as I was from time to time, to the village far below to both sell and buy product from the Brothers efforts and the labors of the villagers.

The journey was long, and steep, and the knowledge of the return to the heights tiresome if dwelt upon, but the noise and sights and smells of the village market was welcome, as a change to the cool winds and solitude of contemplation and tedious, repetitive endeavors of my every day.

As the sixth son of the seventh son of the tenant of the land, it was my mothers desire I enter the ministry and so arranged by my father. I was taken then, at young age, up the mountain, and, at the time of telling, been about my duties for some twenty years.

I descended, upon the day of which the story begins, to trade.

It was while in the market I observed the Lass and she, me.

And, as I now understand and have observed, the inevitable occurred. Inevitable only in the lust of the moment and taken without thought or care, our congregation both hasty and unsatisfactory, prolonged and delightful. It lasted four days, that stain within righteous breast and then the Counts men came and sundered the illicit affair.

I being carried hence to the Abbot for judgment as the Count would hear not pleas of understanding and devotion.

The Abbot rendered justice.

I lay now in unhallowed ground just behind the wall on the right, and have for time beyond memory, listening for the church bells to peel the passing days. The bells once rang I know, thrice the day. Then twice. And now, only once the week. The mellow tone heard twice, should the listener care to discern. Once upon the striking of the clapper and once, faint and far across the valley below, off the mountains far.

I await the re-birth.

My love lost.

My redemption problematical.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile 

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Table name of the Day: SnickersFrog

Seen at the 08 tables on Poker Stars.

*

Justifying MOJO’s faith, Housekeeper appeared this morning. They didn’t make it to Louisiana. They ended staying with family in Texas and visiting Dinosaur Park – somewhere in the wilds of Texas.

Housekeeper asked me if I’d heard the song that goes: “Miles and Miles of Texas?” and when I said “Indeed,” she assured me they weren’t kidding.

*

Local elections.

A school bond issue was defeated. It would have obligated us for twenty years, at 17% mill levee increase – on top of the county property tax increase of 5% mill.

I’m very happy it was defeated so overwhelmingly.

*

A distance South of home, which by the way is not where the blog stat’s place it, there is a town by the name of Peru.

Peru, Ks was a cattle town. A big cattle town. It is no longer either: Big, nor a cattle town. However, it retains vestiges of past glories.

One of the neatest things, now falling into sever dis-repair is an old Mercantile Store sitting on a slope West of the main body of the village now existent.

I’ve driven by many times on the new highway and have given thought to spending some time wandering and picture taking. Never had. Until yesterday.

The Old Mercantile Store:

Not happy with the picture, it lacking details, I went across the fence for some close-ups and to satisfy some curiosity as to the covering.

Paint?

 

Nope. Enameled tin.

I also observed that I was observed. My secret of jumping the fence is safe however.

She promised not to tell.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile