Bowl of Birthday Frosting

     This past weekend Lorraine and I were invited to College Place on the pretext of celebrating my birthday, which was on Monday. Now Sonia and Bruce, with of course the help of Cora and Adam, are in the process of moving from their house in town to their new place up on Mojonnier Drive

     The drive up was uneventful, except for the area between Madras and Biggs. The weather was such that any moisture had frozen on the short juniper trees, sagebrush, fences, and power lines. With bright sunshine for lighting it made for an interesting sight. (See picture at end of this blog)

     And then of course we had to make a stop at the C & D in Boardman to check out the quality of their milkshakes. I’m happy to report that the high quality is being maintained.  

     We had previously volunteered to come lend a hand with this move so we shouldn’t have been surprised at the following. The moving commenced Saturday evening, continued on Sunday, and Monday. What with my broken rib, I was not much help with the heavier stuff, but otherwise managed to be of some use.

     While Bruce and I were schlepping back and forth between houses, Lorraine and Cora were tasked with taking the ornaments and lights off the Christmas tree. Now this is a artificial tree and has been around for some time. The person who originally put the lights on this tree meant them to be permanent. The tree was about eight feet tall and each little limb and twig had a light wire not only twisted around it, but then run back inside the twist. So to take off these lights the whole string of lights had to be threaded back through each of these loops and there were hundreds of them. This tree must have had at least two dozen strings of lights. Cora and Lorraine worked on this project for hours. After they were about two-thirds done Sonia came along and with a scissors cut one of the strings that Lorraine was threading back through a loop and said, “We aren’t going to keep these light, so why don’t you just cut these light wires off the tree.” Well, that simplified the process by about ninety-nine percent. Sonia came away from that encounter with the idea that she was some kind of hero. She slipped back out to the kitchen before either Cora or Lorraine could get their hands on her.

     During the weekend I was asked what kind of birthday cake I wanted. I told them German Chocolate.

     Monday afternoon Bruce made a double batch cake and set it out on the counter. He then mixed a batch of frosting and left it in the kettle to cool. We went into Walla Walla to the Modern and had our fill of Chinese food.     Before continuing this I must explain Coda. Coda is a Labradoodle. He lives with Bruce and Sonia, is rather big, and seems at times rather intelligent, in a doggie sort of way, and actually rather well behaved most of the time. His name means - - well you all know what a coda is - - but how that relates to this dog is beyond me. If you will throw something for him to retrieve he will be your friend for life as well as bother the – ah – dickens out of you.

     We got home from eating Chinese food and what should we find. About two-thirds of the chocolate cake had been eaten and Coda was looking very guilty. Bruce salvaged what had not been molested by this curly gray dog, put that into six bowls, and spooned frosting over each serving. It ended up that there was at least as much frosting as cake. Just the way I like it.

     Coda was under a disciplinary cloud the rest of the evening, but in actuality he had done me a great favor. I finally had the cake the way it was meant to be, fifty percent frosting and fifty percent cake.  

     Tuesday morning we put ourselves together, made one stop in Walla Walla at the “Book and Game,” (which now carries my books), spent some time with my sister-in-law Wallalee Spady, and then drove home. Of course we had to stop at the C & D in Boardman to check the milkshakes again. Some projects just take constant vigilance.

 

 

 

 

This is part of the view we have to look at every time we leave the house.

 

 

 

My Grandnephew--The Specialist 

 

 

From Uncle Velanoff’s Journal

My sister had a grandson named--well, it was long, but we called him Rudy for short. He wasn’t very tall either. He got himself enlisted in the Russian navy just as World War II was heating up. By enlisted I mean that he was hit over the head while walking down a dark street in Sevastopol one evening and came to in a recruiting office--at least that’s what they called it.

They issued him a uniform and filled out some rudimentary paperwork. One of the questions asked on the form was if Rudy had any special skills. Not having any skills, but having a somewhat warped sense of humor he said, “I’m a master plunk maker.” He expected the recruitment officer to laugh at his joke and get back to the skills question, but it so happened that this officer was the kind of person who couldn’t admit that he didn’t know something, so with a knowing nod of his head the officer put down “Master Plunk Maker” on the form.

After three whole days of intensive military training, the navy was ready to assign Rudy to his permanent position. The committee that was supervising this process came to Rudy’s induction papers. The leader of the group said “Well Comrades, it seems we have a Master Plunk Maker.” Then after a pause, during which he looked around the committee for some enlightenment, and getting none he continued by saying, “It’s about time. Where should we assign him so that he can be the most use to our beloved Motherland?” They finally decided on the battleship Oktyabrskaya Revolutsiya.

When Rudy was delivered to his ship, the receiving officer noticed the Master Plunk Maker designation and asked Rudy what that was. Rudy looked him over and said in a loud haughty voice, “You don’t know what a plunk is?” The officer couldn’t admit his ignorance, so assigned Rudy to the engineering section. The head of engineering didn’t know what to do with Rudy so went to his superior and asked how many plunks they wanted Rudy to make. The inquiry ended with the Rear Admiral who also could not admit he didn’t know what a plunk was. Then all Rudy’s superiors came to the conclusion that they should give Rudy what he needed to get on with making a plunk for their ship, the navy, and the glory of their beloved Motherland.

So Rudy was asked what he needed to pursue his craft. Well, now he was on the spot as he had now carried this joke way beyond funny. He realized that with these military types, it had never been funny and Rudy realized he was now on the verge of getting himself discharged from military service. In his beloved Motherland this involved a bullet to the back of the head, for which his family would be charged, the bullet that is, and a shallow grave, if they had the time.

 Rudy decided to continue the charade. He said “I will need a secure workshop, it doesn’t need to be big, complete quiet, no interference as the materials can become unstable during retrograde, and meals delivered on schedule, because during certain portions of the process I need to be there to make adjustments.” He then gave them a list of materials that he would need. The list contained a number of chemicals, some pieces of metal, electronics, and some very specific types of lumber, not large quantities, but very specific as to moisture content.

They complied, and established Rudy in a small workshop with all the materials from his list. After a couple weeks the powers that be forgot about Rudy, as they had other things to worry about. Six months later the Rear Admiral happened to recall the plunk maker and asked for a report. The request went down the chain of command and with trepidation Rudy’s superior approached the plunk-maker’s workshop door and called out “Rudy I need to report to the Rear Admiral on the progress of the plunk.” After three requests which got successively louder and louder, Rudy yelled in a very frustrated voice, actually he had been asleep, “Do you realize what you’ve just done? You’ve just wrecked several weeks calibrations on the zizmot and now I have to start over again. Tell that huddlehunce of a Rear Admiral to leave me alone or come and build this plunk himself.”

The superior modified Rudy’s comments and reported back up the chain of command.

A month later Rudy demanded a wood lath. After several more months Rudy demanded waterproof wood glue. Every few months it was something else.

Twenty-four months later the Rear Admiral ran out of patience. He gathered some of his staff and went down to Rudy’s workshop. He yelled through the locked door of Rudy’s shop, “Seaman Spady, this is Rear Admiral Alexi Barelsky Afloatsin, and if you don’t come out this minute I’m going to have this door blown down and drag you out of there by the uski.” That uski thing was bad news and something Rudy wanted to avoid as he only had two of them.    

The door slowly opened and Rudy stood there holding a wooden sphere in his hands. The Rear Admiral reached out, but Rudy backed away and warned him that the plunk was very delicate. The Admiral asked Rudy what the plunk was good for and Rudy said, “Watch.” He led the way up to the main deck and walked over to the rail. By this time the Rear Admiral and his staff had an entourage of officers in their wake. After looking around to make sure everyone was paying attention Rudy held the sphere out over the rail and let it drop. The Admiral and several of his staff rushed to the rail and watched the sphere.

     It dropped and dropped and then hit the water …………plunk.

     That’s when they shot Rudy.

Bird Feeding for Whom? 

     Lorraine and I were recently sitting in our dining room looking out over the back yard and onto the 15^th fairway of the Greens of Redmond golf course. In our back yard we have several bird feeders and a series of small pools. As the outdoor temperature was hovering around the twelve-degree level the pools were frozen. But the feeders were attracting our share of birds: Juncos, House Sparrows, Scrub Jays, Cedar Waxwings, Northern Flickers, Robins, White-crowned Sparrows, Chickadees, Quail, and of course the ever present Starlings.

     In our yard and out on the golf course we have numerous Juniper trees. We enjoy them as they are picturesque in their lack of uniformity. They also produce copious amounts of berries.  

     The thing that amazed us was that as we watched, more than the usual number of Robins were flocking around the base of and in the branches of the Juniper trees.

     We thought this a little strange and as we watched we realized that they were eating Juniper berries, both off the trees and off the ground. The Starlings and Waxwings were doing the same thing. We watched as one Robin gobbled up four of these berries before moving on to a new spot.

     We know that Juniper berries are used in cooking and for the flavoring of gin. Having seen birds eat these berries before, I’ve tried them myself, both off the trees and off the ground. Neither impressed me at all.

     I don’t believe that I should like everything that birds like, but the Juniper berry thing puzzles me. Maybe somebody out there can enlighten us on this subject.

     Speaking of House Sparrows—we have lived in Redmond for about twenty months and have personally been accessories in the feeding of approximately 2,456 of these Sparrows. They are a plague. They go through birdseed like a bunch of little vacuum cleaners. They’ve also learned to cling to and eat out of the woodpecker suet-feeder.

Have you noticed how we humans react to any species that has learned to flourish in spite of us—Sparrows, Starlings, Dandelions, etc. It seems as though we try to eradicate anything that can survive in spite of us, and then go to great lengths to protect anything that can’t survive because of us.

Again, if anyone out there knows how to feed only the birds that I want to feed and not the ones that I don’t want to feed, please let me know.

Other culprits in the bird theft situation are the deer. They’ve learned to tip the seed feeders enough to get their tongues in there and get the seed. Who would have thought?

Another word about our bird feeding area. We have a neighborhood cat that likes to hang around. I’ve a feeling that this feline doesn’t really understand the true concept of “bird feeding area.”       

After cleaning out our bird feeders he jumps the fence and is making his escape, although at a very leisurely pace.

“The No-Drama Manager"
 
Receives Award

     Recently the New England Book Festival awarded my book The No-Drama Manager: A Common Sense Approach to Management” an honorable mention. I wrote this book with business people in mind, but the concepts and ideas can work equally as well for anyone who finds themselves managing a group of people, be it the PTA, the towns budget committee, or the school board.

     A review by ForeWord Reviews has this to say  “Eldon Spady’s The No-Drama Manager is a breath of fresh air because most books written for business managers have become increasingly formulaic.______ Spady was a hands-on manager who ran departments, divisions, and companies. In some cases, he was tasked with turning failing companies around. In this compact volume, Spady not only gives readers a perspective on what it is really like to be a manager but he also shares relevant examples of everyday management challenges—often from a manufacturing plant floor—that brings his book to life. _____Chapters are short, punchy, and enriched with numerous anecdotes _____what makes this book memorable is the simple, straightforward, heartfelt manner in which the author expresses his views, and the way he weaves in stories to reinforce his perspective.______ Spady preaches a management style that combines calm and confidence with healthy doses of humorous self-deprecation, respect for subordinates, and old-fashioned honesty.”

     For the full review go: https://www.forewordreviews.com/reviews/the-no-drama-manager/

     To see more of this book go to: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_sabc?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&pageMinusResults=1&suo=1389484657608#/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=eldon%20spady&sprefix=eldon%2Cstripbooks&rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Ck%3Aeldon%20spady

Christmas With the Kids

 

Monday, December 30, 2013

Today Lorraine and I got back from the coast. That would be the Oregon coast, and that would be the Pacific Ocean---just in case someone out there is not sure what coast I’m talking about. Every Christmas the family goes some place and spends a few days together. We’ve been to the Oregon Coast numerous times, to Park City, UT, to Zion National Park, UT, to Monterey Bay, CA, to WI, to Maui, HI, to Chicago, IL, to Sun River, OR, to both Texas and to Kentucky a couple times, and to Washington DC, to name a few.

This year we ended up at a house above the beach just south of Newport, OR. This house has no beach access, but does have a great view of the ocean. We’ll stick some photos in later to show you what I mean.

The people involved were our daughter Sonia, her husband Bruce, their teenage kids Cora and Adam. Also there was our younger daughter Shauna, her husband Kevin and their kids Haley, Andee, teenager Hannah, and almost teenager Sam. Of course Lorraine and I were there also.

This group is fairly mild mannered, and they are reasonably good citizens, or as Haley clarified, at least not caught yet. They are fun to be around and we always have an enjoyable time together.

The house has four bedrooms and a sleeping area in the tower, which is, well, a tower. The whole place has a nautical theme including a ship’s wheel in the loft seating area, and an indoor widow’s walk from the loft area around to and along the front wall of the two story great area. This widow’s walk had cushioned window seats so a person could sit and gaze out at the ocean.

We were there for three nights and the program worked something like this: The three older girls decided what we were going to eat at each meal. Then each family received a grocery list showing what to bring to make up these meals. Along with this was the caveat, “bring whatever goodies you feel we’ll all like.” Now all these people involved are fairly health conscious, however, looking at the goodies a person would wonder. For instance--there was a 12” by 18” by 1.5” pan of fudge. That’s a lot of fudge. There was a big tin of Chex Mix and an even larger tin of Neiman Marcus triple-threat popcorn---buttered, cheese, and caramel. There was always an assortment platter of crackers and cheeses at hand. Then there was a container of cake pops, some chocolate covered soda-cracker things, and some chocolate-covered peppermint slabs. To make it look as though we had a modicum of good sense we always had available a platter of veggies and dip, or at least I’m told we did. In addition to all this we always had available leftovers from the previous meals.

It may sound like all we did was eat, but we did manage other activities. Nearly everyone in this group loves to read, so it was not unusual at all to find most of us with our noses in a book. Adam and Sam did spend some time on video games. The girls put together a couple puzzles, and most of the group played Apples to Apples one evening until everyone was wondering how to bring the thing to a halt. One of the things that helped keep that group awake was Andee’s shrieks whenever she accidently played a card face up.

Speaking of puzzles: Shauna concentrates on puzzling like a bomb-disposal agent who absentmindedly left her protective gear in the car. This gift, her ability to focus, has stood her in good stead during her life.

Then there was the beach. The weather was marvelous---mostly clear skies with sunshine with very little wind and comfortable temperatures as long as we were wearing enough clothes. So each day we spent some time on the beach, enjoying the sun, sand, surf, and each other.

On our last day we hiked north to the Yaquina Bay south jetty, climbed up on the thing and walked out to where we needed to climb down off the jetty if we wanted to stay on reasonably dry beach. The jetty is made of big boulders all dumped together higgledy-piggledy, some as big as a small car. Climbing down off the jetty was not that easy. I was making my way down when I made a long step onto a lower slanted rock that had some barnacles on it, or so I thought, which would have made good footing, although somewhat discouraged by the naturalists, ecologists, marine biologists, park rangers, and others. This lower step was to be a launching pad for another step even lower yet to a flatter surface.

The barnacles turned out to be small sea anemones all closed up waiting for the next high tide. They made for very slick footing. That foot went out from under me, landing me on my side. I then slid down the face of that rock for about six feet before coming to a stop. As soon as I came to rest Bruce latched on to my arm with an iron grip, to make sure I didn’t, I guess, slide back up. Actually he was being helpful, but it all happened so fast that it was the soonest he could grab me. I walked away from the situation so felt fortunate. Even my camera and binoculars survived the ordeal. When people now ask why I’m walking funny and wearing a brace on one hand and wrist, I just give them my enigmatic smile and say, “Just a small rock climbing accident out on the Oregon coast.” If they read more into that than they should, well, I’m sure not the thought police.

As I explained to Kevin, getting old sucks---the balance goes, the eyesight goes, and the reflexes go, or so I’m told. People at checkout counters ask if you need help getting your groceries out to your car. Of course the answer is “No.” Now finding your car might be another matter entirely. Young people call you “Sir” and think they need to hold doors open for you. I’m sure most of you older citizens haven’t experienced any of the above.

 The sunsets were fantastic. Check out the picture below.

By the way, those of you who have read my book “In Search of the Painted Bunting” know that Lorraine and I have a passing interest in birdwatching. As we were messing about the south jetty at Yaquina Bay, in Newport, we did see a Surf Scoter, otherwise known as the Skunk Duck, as per one of our bird books--probably because of the white patch on the back of a black head and neck. As far as I can tell, not being a keeper of an organized life list, it was our first time to see a Surf Scoter.

One of the gifts the family gave me is a Samsung Tab3. I have a desktop computer, a laptop computer, and now this tablet. So far I have my desktop and the tablet going at the same time, and sometimes all three are vying for my attention. Most evenings I have my laptop and now the tablet going. So my life is full of beeps, squeaks, chirps, ringing bells, and all sorts of other noises. It sounds like a spirit medium has tapped into an otherworldly flash mob.

The whole weekend was a great success, and I only gained about five pounds.

One week later: After continually increasing pain in my back, I ended up in the emergency room of our local hospital at two in the morning. The short version is that I have a broken rib. They didn’t see any damage to the lung or surrounding tissue. Of course the total treatment package for this is to tell you that you have a broken rib and to not do anything that may aggravate it, and this after my spending two sessions exercising at the club since I’ve been back.

When I think back over the Christmases we’ve spent with the kids I realized that it might appear to a third party that I’ve gone out of my way to avoid this togetherness. Several years ago just before we were about to leave to meet the kids I had a mild heart attack and was in the hospital getting a stint put in. A couple years ago (see story above) I had a gall bladder removed on Christmas day when we were scheduled to be enjoying their company. Both seem a little extreme as avoidance mechanisms. Now this year I break a rib, but at least I got to spend the time with them first, so maybe I’m improving.





Shauna, Andee, Hannah, Lorraine, Haley, Cora, Sonia

Where are the boys? Who knows.

Uncle Vellanoff's Journal

I recently found the journal of my possibly imaginary great Uncle Vellanoff. The following is how he introduces himself before going on to detail his life experiences.

Some of his journal entries will appear in my upcoming book about my growing up years on the farm, and a few other possibly interesting experiences.

We will add to this blog as time permits my deciphering Uncle Vellanoff's journal. I'm not sure of the veracity of his experiences, so be warned.

From the journal:

I, Vellanoff Spady, having recently arrived from Russia to this wonderful land of the United States of America, will try to record to the best of my ability and without much embellishment, the things that happen to me during the next several years. There are two reasons for doing this:  one it might improve my English, and two it might be interesting to whoever should find this Journal after I’m gone. The reason for my leaving Russia is of no import, as I have no desire to make anyone an accessory. Let’s just say that I left in a hurry, as the result of a difference of opinion with the secret police.