Mr_Keegio's Xanga

Barfing the Light Fantastic

Wed, 18 Apr 2007 01:38:06 GMT

As I was a somewhat introverted kid, I rarely participated in school activities unless required. I always had an interest in science, however, so in high school I decided to join the radio club. This was unusual as clubs go because there wasn't a radio to be found. The teacher was a part time electrician. He wasn't even a radio operator. Go figure. We all worked on our pet projects and had a lot of fun along the way.

Our school required that all clubs sponsor at least one general school activity each year. These were usually debates, field trips, or the ever popular dance. Our teacher told us that he was under pressure to get us more involved in the school community. After meager turn outs for a field trip to a power station and a television station the previous years, we were doing a dance. This was not an obvious choice for us as we were all geeks and nerds. We scratched our heads and eventually got an idea. At the time strobe lights were becoming popular...so that was it, a strobe dance.

The dances were always held in the field house , an enormous space, so, we figured that we would need a very powerful light. We went to a surplus store with our meager budget. It turned out to be an unusual design. We bought a 10,000 watt runway landing light. We cut an opening in the bottom with a spinning disk with a hole in it over the opening which would blink the light. It was incredibly bright, and worked well in the shop.

The night of the dance, the box was hoisted into the rafters. There was a huge turnout. The room blinked from black to piercing bright to the beat of a live band. Everyone was dancing and having a good time. We were pleased with our work, rather prematurely. After about an hour, we noticed various kids going outside briefly, only to return shortly thereafter. When we checked into it, we found that everyone was getting so sick from the contrast of the strobe that they were barfing all over the outside steps! So the radio club had the dubious distinction of a front page article in the school paper. The headline described the dance as "Barfing the Light Fantastic."

Whatever happened to you that backfired?

Border Patrol

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 00:00:23 GMT

When we got married, as I have described previously, the homestead had very large grounds for the suburbs, almost three acres. Not only did we move in my things and the Mrs. but my stepdaughter's, too, including her dog, Samantha. Now Sam was an exceptional dog in many ways. She was supposedly, according to the vet's best guess, part Golden Retriever and part beagle (although we later found out she was a true breed of retriever from Nova Scotia.) She was adorable and eager to please. She frolicked in the snow and played endlessly, even in her later years. She loved people food the best, especially pickles and ice cream. Sam was very sensitive to peoples' feelings, always wanting to cuddle when you didn't feel good. One of the things that set her apart was her great insight into things easily overlooked, and her ability to communicate it in her own way.

The best example of her uncanny ability came about in an unusual way. When we first moved in, I took Sam for a tour around the yard, so that she would know where the edge of her territory was. Since there were no fences allowed in our neighborhood, it was important for her to know. She took it all in and carefully walked on the border without much help. The exception was on the southern edge, which had a dense line of trees on it. She walked along and just kept looking up at me with a furrowed brow. Time went by and Sam never strayed from our yard with one exception. A handful of times my southern neighbor would call us to complain that our dog was on his property. The last couple of times he wasn't very friendly about it, either. In each case, we would walk over and pick her up. She would have a baffled look, something we rarely saw, I would gently scold her for her errant behavior.

One day the cable company called and wanted our permission to survey the east and south property lines so they could stay in the right-of-way. We agreed, and they set to their task. To our utter amazement, we found that our southern property line was a good 15 feet behind the trees, exactly where Sam would be found walking around! The surveyors had a good laugh, we were elated, and Samantha had just been doing her job of border patrol.

What amazing things have your pet or someone's you know, done?

Buyer Beware

Mon, 26 Mar 2007 19:30:43 GMT

When I was 16 years old, my Dad, who was, as I have said, English, took me to the Old Country to meet his family and to see the sights. It was a life changing experience for me in so many ways, and many more stories could be told. And no doubt shall. But for this tale I must remark that I liked really cool cars and I got an eyeful there. I especially had a penchant for hand built cars but not because of their status, but rather their beauty. They are an expression of art in their own right. One type of car caught my fancy. They were not common, even there. These were the Jaguar Mark X (Mark 10). Even by today's standards, they were breathtaking. In England they had a similar structure and finish to the Rolls Royce. I had never seen one in Dayton, Ohio and secretly wished that I could own one someday.

We returned home. Shortly after my 19th birthday, I was looking through the newspaper and to my amazement came across one listed for sale. You guessed it. I spent most of my savings to buy it. It was black lacquer with navy blue leather interior, burl walnut everywhere, a bar in the back with decanters and an AM/FM/SW radio. It had been lavishly maintained in perfect condition. It was a real joy which I had for over six years. When the odometer hit about 220,000 miles, I had to have some work done to it. I preferred to do my own work on it. When the master brake cylinder started to show signs of wear, I contacted the nearest dealer, 50 miles away to order one from England for $200.00. I reluctantly sent a check and waited.

About two weeks later, a small package arrived at my home in Dayton, Ohio from England. Inside was an impressive carton that said "Genuine Jaguar Part". Inside was another box marked "General Motors Delco Products, Dayton, Ohio" I was stunned. I took the Delco part number and called the local parts store. I had already installed the part on the car but I was curious. When the clerk came back on the line he said it was the same as was used on the Chevy Nova...price? ...$15.00.

What has cost you too much, too late?

Unexpected Invasion

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 13:49:16 GMT

Years ago, we had a home with large grounds. Since my wife and I both loved gardening, it was inevitable that we would have plants poking out all over the place. We had sectioned off various places, one was a large patch in the back for the vegetables. Each year the size and varieties grew. My wife was keen on canning. She produced many memorable preserves for our table. Even today, the thought of her tomato jelly makes my mouth water.

Each year, while planning the garden, we would carefully choose varieties and locations for each kind. We would always add a couple of new types each time. As was our custom, the new additions were planted in the expanded areas along the borders. One year we decided among other things to plant a new variety of zucchini. Time went by and everything grew very well, helped along with generous heaping of droppings from our rabbit herd. We anxiously awaited the bounty.

We noted that this variety of zucchini was particularly vigorous. That was encouraging because my wife made the best bread and soups and salads and so forth from them. Each evening when we harvested tomatoes, snap peas, Lima beans, radishes, rhubarb, and so on. We would find an ever expanding quantity of zucchini. They started to spread out over the grass adjoining the garden. After a while, I began to take the surplus to work, where they were eagerly snapped up by those who had no green thumb, but good appetites. I took bushel baskets to our neighbors. I gave trunk-loads to my mother-in-law.

Eventually, the zucchini covered the entire side yard, an area larger than the garden itself. My co-workers finally had their fill. Our larder was brimming with preserves, our freezer with packages. Even the local mission wanted no more. The neighbors would hide and pretend they weren't home. With great regret, I was resigned to heaping huge stacks on the compost pile. I even mowed down batches for green manure. At long last, one night toward October's end, gratefully, the first frost came, the invasion was over. Moral: Never go to the store hungry or plant more than one packet of zucchini!

What has ever taken over your life?

What's in a Name?

Wed, 21 Mar 2007 01:27:44 GMT

I spent many fascinating years doing basic research. One of the most interesting labs had a lot of unique equipment, much of it specially designed to collect specific types of data. Occasionally, however, one would find relatively standard research test equipment in various areas. This did not, however, mean they were commonly found outside a laboratory. Engineers and scientists are, as a whole very practical. They always try to keep things as simple as possible. Most of the time the name for equipment is straightforward and descriptive. Sometimes, however, equipment has a name that is as unique as one could imagine, clearly setting it apart.

One such machine sat in a room of its own. It had originally been designed for a special task, but had proven so versatile that many more had been built and installed in labs all over the world. It was produced by a small company in New England, I believe, literally in a garage. At one point, due to a new research effort, it looked like we might need a second machine. Our machine, which was the prototype, however, didn't have a regular name. So when I called the company, I described the machine and asked for literature on the currently available model.

The man on the phone said that he had designed the original machine and was more than happy to send information and be on call for any questions that we had. Several days later, a thick packet arrived. When I opened the literature, I had to laugh. Others curious about my reaction came over to see what was so funny. Soon everyone was having a good laugh. I just had to call the man at the company again.

Having an amiable chuckle, I felt relaxed right away, asking for an explanation. He described how designing the original machine was done under contract to accomplish a certain task. He had never considered that the machine would be so successful that other labs would want one. So, they hired a consultant, who said it was, imperative, the machine have one-of-a-kind, catchy name. He spent weeks trying to come up with something, to no avail. Discussing his frustration with his wife one evening, he flippantly remarked that perhaps he ought to let their toddler name the machine. Shortly thereafter, the baby girl actually uttered something that caught his imagination. He decided immediately that was surely special name no one could easily forget. So in an instant, the machine would forever be known as "Gleeble."

What unusual names have you come across?

The Digital Age

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 22:55:16 GMT

Today computers are everywhere, almost like television, and we take them for granted, but it was not always so. When I was younger, they were just becoming available to others besides military applications. They were, however, still big mainframes that took up entire rooms. One of my first jobs when in college was working part time at a military base that did a lot of basic research. They had several mainframes, but their oldest in use was nearly 20 years old. They had kept it because it was so very reliable. It was a first generation transistor unit, built around the time I was in grade school. My job was to help with the programming. It was very tedious in those days, using machine code, the most difficult method to tolerate. The maintenance contract for the computer, but never needed it, so minor work was done by us. Part of my responsibility was to turn it on Monday morning, and to close it down on Friday afternoons. This was not a matter of throwing a switch. It involved a many step procedure that had to be carefully followed.

One Monday morning, I went into the Lab, turning equipment on as usual. When I got to the mainframe, it would not come on. Thinking I had overlooked something, I went through the entire procedure step by step. Nothing. At first I felt frightened, I had done something wrong. Gradually, doing minor general troubleshooting, I realized that the machine simply wasn't working right. I called my supervisor and he, sure that I had overlooked something obvious, went through the start up procedure with me. No go. Alarmed, he said it had come on every Monday for the five years that he had worked there. Reluctantly, he called the office of the manufacturer. They promised to send their best man by plane the next day.

Now, a computer is a complex device, with many sections that work together to get the job done. If one part doesn't work right, it can be difficult to trace the source of the problem. We were expecting the computer man to arrive with a car load of equipment and a ton of manuals and diagrams. The next morning, a middle-aged man with thinning hair arrived, carrying only a brief case. We looked anxiously around for test equipment. He had brought NONE. Baffled, we asked why. He explained that he had been on the original design team on this particular model and knew all the tricks. Having said that, he opened his case and pulled out a ruler. He went over to the back of cabinet #5. He measured over about 6 inches and made a mark. He measured up about 10 inches and marked across the first mark.

Then, leaning back, he gave the cabinet a swift kick at the spot, and told us to turn it on. Exasperated, we couldn't believe him, but we tried it. It came on perfectly We all stood around laughing, comparing this to fixing old TV's in a similar manner. After we quieted down, he calmly opened the rack door and showed us a relay inside. He said that about every 10 years or so, the connections work loose, and a good solid thump would usually fix it for a few more years. With that, we bought him lunch, having a great time telling stories to each other and sending him on his way.

I eventually went on to other things. A few years later, I visited a large warehouse that specializes in government surplus looking for a few good buys for my radio hobby, there in a remote corner sat that same computer, intact with a disposal tag on it. There on rack #5 was the mark of years before. I suppose it didn't come on one day for some young and inexperienced operator. I laughed to myself, knowing that with a good kick, that baby could be mine!

Infamy

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 09:14:32 GMT

My wife and I always loved and enjoyed the beauty and character of the Lord's creation. Most people would call us naturalists. We used to live in heavily wooded grounds adjacent to undeveloped woodlands. We used to have visits from all manner of creatures both large and small. There was a large raccoon buck that would scrounge through our garbage cans like he owned the place. Deer used to sleep in our backyard under the various fruit trees and berry bushes. I would startle wild rabbits and garter snakes while mowing the small lawn. A mother wood duck would make her nest and tend her young in the forsythia bush near the large circular driveway every spring. And of course, we would see and hear all manner of songbirds, some rather rare in these parts. We had a very large picture window in the great room. Several times a year a hapless bird would fly into it, even though we carefully marked it. Nevertheless, once in a while they would fly into it anyway, knocking themselves silly. Except for one unfortunate red-headed woodpecker, they would shake themselves and fly off again.

Speaking of birds, we had one incident that as FDR said would go down in infamy. My wife was vacuuming near that big window, when a movement caught her eye. To her amazement, on a lower branch of a black locust perched a massive bald eagle! Now these birds of prey had not been seen in our area since about 1900, so she could hardly believe her eyes. We had an Audubon book on the shelf; she hurriedly grabbed it and verified that it was, indeed a bald eagle. After a few minutes, while she struggled to get the camera out of the case, it flew majestically away into the distance.

With an obviously rare sighting such as this, she decided to call the local Audubon Society to report it. She couldn't believe their response. No, they were adamant. Eagles had not been sighted by them for almost 100 year! Besides, unless a member of the Audubon Chapter made the sighting, it didn't mean a thing. They promptly hung up on her. She was stunned. When I got home from work, she filled me in with mixed emotions, for sure. That wasn't the end of the story. In the next Sunday's newspaper was an article about the local Audubon Society about THEIR sighting of a rare bald eagle the previous week! From that day forward to this, we never report anything to anybody. Like the three monkeys about evil: we heard nothing, we saw nothing and we said nothing, even when they nested in our own backyard!

What has ever taken you by surprise?

Presto Chango

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 07:31:16 GMT

For many years my wife and I were involved with show rabbits. Just like dogs and cats, the rabbit shows are elite, a lot of fun and a lot of work bu very rewarding. We were into Netherland Dwarfs primarily, the smallest, and in my opinion, the most intelligent breed. It didn't take long before we had a barn full of 300 head. Most people don't realize that although they don't bark or meow, rabbits still express themselves, just in a more subtle way. They have their own personalities. We had many memorable characters over the years.

One such character, I nicknamed Houdini. He was a beautiful Siamese sable buck, and very bright. We fed twice a day. I would get up at 5AM and do morning feed before work, then evening feed after supper. The rabbits were housed in individual cages on tiered racks. Each had a door and latch. It made for easy maintenance and accessibility for interacting with them. This particular buck, from the time he was a bunny, was very observant of everything that we did. He was always thinking. When he was old enough to have his own cage, he delighted in keeping his everything just so, Mr. Neat and Tidy. He would watch my every move, and often nuzzle me in appreciation of the attention I gave him. Everything seemed normal until one fateful morning.

I was making early rounds, feeding, remarking to the new mothers about their beautiful babies, like always. Then I came to his cage. His door was open, and he was sitting there with a rather smug look. I figured I must have forgotten to latch his door the previous night. I went about my business, as usual. The next morning his door was open again. He had made no effort to leave, he just sat there looking at me. I decided his latch must somehow be faulty, and installed a different type.. As I did, he sat there intently watching my every move.

Things returned to normal for a few days. Then, again, his door was open. My wife thought it was a curiosity, and suggested I install yet another type of latch. By now we thought something rather mysterious was going on, but we had a good laugh and went on. Two weeks later, the door was open again. He, as usual, was just sitting there, quite satisfied with himself. So, we changed latches two more times until we had gone through every latch design known. He had figured out how to open them all.

Finally, one day, after we had finished teaching him how to pose for the judge (he became a grand champion), we put him in his cage and installed a small padlock. The next morning, he was just steamed. He couldn't open that one! We gave him some toys to play with and he got over it. But it took us a while to figure out what he wanted. Rule #1: First you have to be smarter than the rabbit!

What "tricky" pets have you had?

The Great Bean Debacle

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 03:26:26 GMT

My wife and I share many interests and greatly enjoy doing things together. When we first got married we had a house with very large grounds, almost three acres. The front half was wooded with immense old oak, hickory, sassafras and other trees. The back half, with southern exposure, had been pasture and, so was devoid of almost anything but a few saplings. It wasn't long before we decided that we wanted a bountiful garden.. There was a popular show on PBS at the time called "Square Foot Gardening". You made your garden like a checkerboard, with no plant shading out its fellow. We studied this carefully and chose it over conventional rows.

Starting from seed, we carefully nursed the seedlings along, growing everything but the kitchen sink, it seemed, with great enthusiasm.Everyday, I would come home from work and survey the progress with pride. My wife gathered all the equipment for canning with great expectations. Gradually, things began to take shape as we had anticipated. We poured over books to make sure we used the best organic methods, proper watering technique and the best shading and staking. We operated like a well oiled machine, together working the garden each day.

One weekend we had gone to a rabbit show without tending the garden for a couple of days. When we returned on Sunday afternoon, we felt we needed to get caught up on our garden maintenance. After putting things away and changing clothes, we clambered to the garden, tools in hand. After a few minutes of furious weeding and because it was getting dark, my wife exclaimed, "Oh no, quick, pull up the beans, they're going to seed on us!"

Quickly, I dropped my rake and hurried to the bean patch. After pulling six or seven plants, I suddenly stopped and looked at her. She looked back at me and blinked. We both burst out laughing at our foolishness. We carefully replanted them.

To this day, if we get in a hurry to complete some task, one of us is sure to say, "Now, let's not pull up the beans!"

What goofs have you made in a hurry?

Grandson of Cucumber

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 20:49:22 GMT

My father, you may already know, was English. He was, however, a Victorian, born in 1880 and a confirmed bachelor until he met my mother (another story, eh, wot?). My Dad's parents were somewhat famous in their day. My grandfather, you see, was a gifted gardener. Now the British in general and the English in particular, love to garden. Almost every yard, no matter how small , has flowers and veggies popping up all over. My grandfather, however, was a specialist, a professional. When my Dad was just a young lad, his father developed a unique method of growing hanging cucumbers. His technique used by master gardeners today, made it possible for them to grow, straight, uniform and with a waxy "bloom", perfect and unblemished.

It wasn't long before he got a lot of attention and was appointed "Purveyor of Cucumbers to Her Majesty Queen Victoria," a great honor and privilege. When his father, wearing his best top hat and tails, made a delivery to Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle, he would often be invited to visit briefly with the Royal Family in residence at the time. They were all fascinated that his cucumbers were so flawless, and he found them to be surprisingly warm and genuine. A couple of times my Dad got to go along and it left a lasting impression on him. As he grew up, his Dad became supplier to the Earls, Lords and Dukes and many became family friends. Dad's family really prospered. Eventually, my Dad ended up in Ohio and when he married my Mother, later I came along. It was unfortunate that my Dad did not live to meet my wonderful wife, they would have gotten on well together. But she got to know all about him from me. Since she has a Scottish background, she occasionally likes to tease my English heritage.

In this climate of rivalry she would tell a Scottish joke: Two Englishmen on a riverbank called across the river to two Scots,"Is there a bridge nearby?"
"Sorry, Laddie, five miles upstream."
"Dreadful, how shall we ever get across?"
"Well, now, we could shine this flashlight across and you could walk on the beam."
"Rubbish, you must think we English are stupid fools. Why, we wouldn't get halfway across, and you would turn off the flashlight!"

What's your family known for?