My Neighbor's Security

I know most of the people who live on my street - which is only somewhat true.  I know most of the people's vehicles who live on my street.
The people who live about a quarter mile away on a back lot just sold their house and moved recently.  I had never actually talked to them, but they drove a PT Cruiser.  From what I could see as they drove by, usually while I was walking one of the dogs, they were older - meaning they may have been around my age or maybe older.  They always smiled and waved.  But even people who probably would not like me smile and wave as they go by.

I don't remember the last time I woke up after the sun had risen, or even as the sun was rising.  I generally find that once I wake up, the best thing for me to do is just to get up - regardless of the time.  As much as it may pain the 16-year-old-me who has long since gone extinct, I am a morning person.
The first thing I do after I get up is put the dogs out.  My younger dog always hear me walking toward the dog room.  My older dog, deaf for years now, usually needs to be woken up.

At one time, we were the new neighbors on this street.  Now there are new neighbors at the house that just sold.  And three doors down in the other direction, new constructions is building another house.  It was early December when I moved into this house.  Coming from an old Victorian house down in the holler that is Main Street of the township, SO and I were enamored with the sunrises and sunsets.  A house out to the west - quite a ways away - has a floodlight of some kind.  This looks like a yellow sodium vapor light that is old enough that it may be starting to dim.  I can only see this light in the late fall through spring.  The house sits low, near the horizon so trees (and probably hateful honeysuckle) blocks the light from view at other times.
I've grown accustomed to that yellow light, but on first moving in, I hated it.  It spoiled otherwise stunning sunsets.  Looking to the west after dark, that yellow light remains defiling the sun's canvas.

I'm really not sure how old my older dog is as she was a rescue dog.  I was told that she was around 4 when I got her, but she was already starting to show some significant grey in the face.  When I told the vet the assumed age, he hesitated, raised an eyebrow, "Um, maybe.  Maybe five, or six."
She is the most aloof, yet affectionate dog I've ever had.  She can no longer go on anything but the shortest walks.  At times she can still jump on the furniture; other times she just puts her front paws up and looks at me.  She tends to look annoyed when I lift her onto the couch.  Aloof but affectionate.  I suspect I'll have the same level of obstinateness when I can no longer metaphorically jump on the couch.

When I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause to look up in the sky on clear mornings.  Living in a rural area, the stars shine brightly.  Even though I still want to visit an area with very low light pollution - I've never been able to see the painted swath of the Milky Way.  I have been lucky enough to have seen some fantastic meteors first thing in the morning.

The new people on the street have put up a shockingly bright security light that remains lit through the night.  Unlike the house to the west, this is not a dimming sodium vapor light, but appears to be some new-fangled bright white LED.  I have very quickly grown to detest that light.  I'm fearful if I ever meet these new neighbors, I'll instantly say something like, "Ah, the sons-a-bitches with that bright-ass light?"
I'm curious about the intentions and level of fear that necessitated such a bright light to be lit all night.  I suspect a similar reaction as to when someone new immigrant to this rural area complains about getting behind a trundling combine in the fall - what did you move to a rural area for?  Shouldn't darkness be a virtue of a rural area, just like farm equipment or cow poop is celebrated?  Or dogs barking?  Or sassafras trees being destroyed by whitetail bucks overcome with aggression in the fall?  Did these new neighbors come from a suburb, and bring with them the primordial fear of darkness that led primitive Homo Habilis to huddle by the safety of a fire at night?

I worry about my older dog.  She has been diagnosed with cancer and is approaching borrowed time.  Along with her hearing, her sense of smell is diminished to the point it is difficult at times to get her to eat.  But it doesn't take much to keep her happy.  Make sure she has water.  Give her a few treats per day.  Help her on the couch even if she groans about it.  And let her out every few hours.  The neighbor's lights don't seem to bother her at all.

The Fall Scramble

Fall, and more specifically October, is usually a busy time.  I own too many things with internal combustion engines and many of them are not used in the winter - so all of them get maintenance and get cleaned up before putting to bed.  This takes time and the timing is dependent on their last use.

The lawn always needs a final mow.

Outside and inside cleaning must be done.

The house often needs a bit of attention before Brother North Wind begins to blow.

And I need to get ready for hunting.

My recent trip west made all this winter preparation seem even more of a scramble this year.  I needed to finish most of it before leaving, then complete the rest after returning.

But the local deer season started less than two weeks after I got home.

Deer hunting around home has a lot of variability.  I've had years where the deer seem to constantly saunter around me, and years where they seem to know exactly where I am.  During the latter, they plan travels to keep miles away from me.  It was only a few years ago when I had a 2-year dry spell with no venison in the freezer - the dry spell broken with a doe taken late on a Thanksgiving afternoon.

This year, the weather on opening day was not conducive to deer hunting.  There were high winds all day with a threat for heavy rain.  The weather ended up being only bad, not terrible.  Still, I probably heard less shooting on opening day than I had in years; the only year that I can recall that produced less gunfire was 2008, when there was an all-day constant cold rain.  I always hunt opening day, but I much prefer the quiet of later in the season - even if there is less deer movement.

I shot a buck on opening morning, around the time I started to get concerned about the predicted rain.  The real work of hunting starts after the shot - not before it.

The buck I shot was a pretty nice eight-point.  In most other years, I would have been ecstatic.  For the area I hunt, he was probably better than average.  But my 2016 deer was an absolute monster.  And a recent trip out West also resulted in a phenomenal bucket-list deer.  With time for reflection, it is sad how our expectations can get reset, even if only temporarily.  I fully realize that within a year or so, expectations will be returned back to normal - and I'll be thrilled with a doe and probably much later in the season.

Something else ended with the shot on that eight-point buck.  The fall scramble ended.  After a day spent processing the deer - gosh I am slow at that - I realized my time horizon has opened up considerably.  I had scheduled lots of vacation time for hunting, and I have too much vacation to burn before the end of the year.  But the fall scramble is over.  The fall scramble ended abruptly with the report of a .243 Winchester.  Cabin fever may be next.

It is Thanksgiving.  I took my dog for a long walk at first light.  Temperatures were significantly below freezing.  The wind was putting just a small bite in the air.  I heard gunfire off to the west - almost a certainty it was someone deer hunting.  It was the kind of morning that begs for hunting, if one has the right gear for it.  For now, the freezer is full of venison.  I am very thankful.  I am very fortunate.

The Billionaire's Vinegar (and the thousandaire's giclee)

"And you drove there?" my manager asked me.  My manager couldn't seem to fathom that I drove to Wyoming.

While definitely not the same as going cross country on my motorcycle, I actually enjoy the expeditions in my four-wheeled vehicle.  The trip out allows me some time to mentally prepare by shedding thoughts about work and home.  It allows me an opportunity to mentally prepare for what I'm traveling for.  The trip home gives me time to reflect - to replay events in my mind and begin to see what will stick in my memory, and what I'll be glad I've written down as I'll be sure to forget it otherwise.

These trips also allow me to read/listen to audiobooks.  I often ponder if reading a physical book is the same as listening to it.  I've decided it isn't; it is only a close facsimile.  I won't claim to be able to explain this, but I see reading a book on a Kindle or Nook to be more similar to audiobooks than the physical book.  Paper books have a tactile, almost sensualness to them that any form of digital media just doesn't have - the difference between the plastic house plant and the real one.  Both can look good, but they are not equivalent.
One of the books I listened to on my westward direction was The Billionaire's Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace.  I don't remember where I originally heard about this book, but I found it utterly fascinating.  It recounts the tale of a 1787 Lafite bordeaux supposedly owned by Thomas Jefferson, and delves into the cosmos of ultra-rare wine collecting.  Like any niche-world, this is not an arena to enter into without knowing what one is getting into; it would appear to be a world where trivial differences can be the split between something outrageously valuable and something of no value except as decoration or a conversation piece.  Fraud can be rampant, with profits to be made if one is discreet (google Rudy Kurniawan...).  Arguably, many of these rare, old wines taste good only because they are rare and old.
The Billionaire's Vinegar was so good, I started to listen to it on the return trip, but got home before the second read was done.

Ultra rare wine collecting sounds like a sister to fine art collecting.  I've never really understood art - where the value of something is so dependent, not on the thing itself, but on the person who created it.  A dusty painting from hundreds of years ago may be worth nothing, even if it appears to be a really good painting, if the artist is an unknown.  A painting of similar aesthetic value from Matisse or Steen could be priceless.
I enjoy watching Antiques Roadshow, and it isn't unusual for a participant to bring in a work of art they see as "ugly" only to say something to the effect of, "I'm starting to really like this now!" when the appraiser tells them it is worth thousands of dollars.  (Just how often are Antiques Roadshow appraisals grossly wrong?)  It seems if a painting has aesthetic value, it should be worth something.  And if it is ugly, it shouldn't?  Perhaps I am just a philistine when it comes to these things.  I am...

A relative gave me a "painting" of a leopard a few years ago.  Except it isn't a painting at all, but a "giclee" - which is an expensive way of saying an ink-jet printing on canvas, possibly touched in a few places by a brush and maybe even a penned signature.  It came with a Certificate of Authenticity and an "appraisal" which put its value at hundreds of dollars.  I can find other giclees - or seriolithographs - of this image online for even more, approaching several thousands of dollars from "fine art" websites.  Or I can find it on Ebay for a few few tens of dollars.  How much is the used car worth?  My former boss used to tell customers that it is worth what someone will pay for it.
A web search of the art seller, who also happens to be the appraiser, quickly shows the value of their certificate and what their valued opinion is worth.

• "... as well as a giclée of leopards by Andrew Bone to a man wearing a Yankees T-shirt for $1,025. (When I spoke to the Yankees fan later, he referred to the purchase as a “painting on canvas,” and I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.)"

I'm not sure what the relative paid for the image, but I suspect the frame it is in could actually be of similar value.  In the back of my mind, I can't help wonder what Andrew Bone, the artist, thinks about this racket.  Probably like Thomas Kinkade - he thinks about his bank account.  Bubble gum can be fun to chew for a few minutes.

I originally felt somewhat obligated to hang the leopard giclee up in the house, but even if it has some aesthetic value, it just doesn't look right anywhere in the house.  An African leopard in a house filled with North American taxidermy looks more than a little out of place.  Many would question my choice for decoration and I understand that.  But I'm also very aware that any offense aside, my art choice has value to me and me alone - an aesthetic reminder of my experiences rather than intrinsic worth.

The leopard print is relegated to the basement, and if the market for seriolithographs ever takes off and I end up on Antiques Roadshow, I'm not sure I'll be able to say I like it more.

Rules

Draco says:

1. All push pins will be clear, white or blue.  No push pins of other colors may be used.
2. Meat will consist of one chicken or one duck per person per week.  Venison may be substituted between October and December only.
3. All vehicles will be rear wheel drive.  For persons of sufficient means, all wheel drive may be substituted.
4. Lawn mowing will conclude each year by November 10.  Mowing the lawn after November 10 will result is immediate property loss.
5. No alcohol of any kind will be tolerated.
6. Teeth will be brushed both morning and evening, one tooth brush per individual.  Tooth brushes must never be shared.
7. Dolphins found in the Great Lakes must not be harmed.
8. All signatures will be done in blue or black ink.  Signatures in pencil or ink of any other color are invalid.
9. Only barbless hooks may be used in the taking of fish.  Nets maybe used in the landing of fish, but not as the primary means of fishing.
10. Management will write one memo detailing the previous three weeks of work every other week.  The memo will be one single-spaced page - no more, no less.
11. The thermostat will be set at 76 or above during times where cooling is needed, and at 65 or below when heating is needed.
12. The day's work may begin at any time.  However, lights must remain dimmed until after 6:00AM.  No office work is to be done on Saturday or Sunday.
13. Bread must contain whole wheat as the primary ingredient.
14. The combination of any citrus fruit or any part of any citrus fruit with any meat or fish is considered unfit for human consumption.
15. Dogs must not be allowed to sleep outside at night.  If a house has a dog, that house must have a minimum of two dogs.
16. All domiciles will be cleaned on every weekend.  The only exception is when a house is not occupied for the entirity of both Saturday and Sunday.  Cleaning procedures will be detailed separately.
17. File reconciliation will occur in January of each year.  Non-critical documents created prior to the previous year will be purged and shredded or burned.
18. Anytime Friday falls on the 13th of the month, it will be considered a paid holiday.

The Art of Demotivation - In Practice

Everyone has done it.  Parents to children.  Coworkers to colleagues.  Friends to eachother.
Everyone has occasionally called someone by the wrong name or briefly failed to recall the name of the person they are looking at.  I'll admit to being terrible with names of people I've newly met.
But it felt more nefarious when a manager at work called me by another name recently.

This will be the second consecutive post which relates to work - and I don't write about work.

I'm in a position which is both enviable and worthy of sympathy.  My management at work doesn't really care about my role.  They've made that abundantly clear by ignoring an increasing percentage of stuff related to what I'm working on in the nearly two years since I moved into my current job.  There are still some check-the-box HR exercises and I still talk with them, but my job is largely a bottomless void.  Bottomless void also implies that something rolls downhill - and it does.
This is enviable since it means they largely leave me alone.  This is worthy of sympathy since it means I'm quite sure I'm superfluous.  Or perhaps more realistically, I'm doing work which needs to get done - and the best possible outcome from a management perspective is nobody hears about it.  I may be a hairs breath away from being ignored right out of a paycheck.

I sometimes wonder if I may be slipping into the nothingness described in Harlan Ellison's short story "Are You Listening?"  It describes a man so mundane and average that he loses his existance - until he meets another man of the same fate.  Maybe there are other people at work who nobody has seen for years, but continue to dutifully show up every day.

David Bolchover writes about this in his book The Living Dead:  Switched Off, Zoned Out.  Mr. Bolchover was employed for years, where he freely admits he was doing almost nothing.  He relates that he was largely forgotten about.  There is another distinct possibility in that his management may have thought it was easier to give Mr. Bolchover unlimited freedom and a paycheck, rather than deal with his situation.  One thing I've learned over the years is that management really are human, and with the same limited energy to deal with difficult situations as everyone else.  If something isn't an immediate problem, ignoring it until it either becomes one or goes away may be a viable strategy - even if a feeble one.  A third possibility is that Mr. Bolchover could be a painful person to work with.  I've never met him and know nothing about him.  But I've seen difficult people be sidelined with roles that basically separate them from the normal population.  The corporate equivalent to solitary confinement.
Regardless, his point is a real one.  How much of the work going on is critically important?  It is too easy for the tasks to expand to fill the time, rather than the time being well used at the work that needs to be done.
I have stuff to do.  I'm competent at most of it, good at some of it.  But the overall management sentiment seems to be one of ambivelance.

I don't read many work/management books, but in addition to Bolchover's The Living Dead and Fisman and Sullivan's The Org (a highly recommended book which helps explains why large organizations devolve into the same painful, gelatinous mass), I read E.L. Kersten's The Art of Demotivation with great interest.
I'm really not sure how to classify The Art of Demotivation.  The book explains how to get more out of employees by demotivating them to a level somewhere just above the ground snail.  I'd like to believe Kersten's The Art of Demotivation is a completely satirical look at the pop culture of management books, celebrity business people, and self-help about how to "do more with less" as a manager.  But I can't.  I have seen far too many of Mr. Kersten's techniques practiced at work and far too often.  Sadly, I suspect many of the proletariat in a global corporation could say this.  So while it may not be a serious how-to book for up-and-coming managers, it may be a third person how-I-got-here for too many managers.

One of the strategies Mr. Kersten suggests in a couple of different places in the book is to "forget" the names of subordinates - and to do this frequently.  Employing this strategy, he even demonstrates this gem in the Acknowlegements:
"I also need to give credit to my research assistants Robert (or Roger?) from Massachusetts and the redhead with the eyebrow piercing.  They tracked down numerous references, checked the accuracy of quotations, and were a constant source of inspiration.  Naturally, any errors and omissions in the final manuscript are their fault."

So given the current ambivalent demotivation at work, when my manager called me the wrong name, in writing, I raised an eyebrow.  He has known me for well over five years.  We've worked close enough in the past that we've nearly come to fisticuffs (slight exageration).  Making it worse, he called me by the name of a colleague who is leaving the organization.  And his subsequent follow through was nearly delayed enough to be irrelevant with silence since.

But I won't complain.  In a training earlier this year, the speaker, who is both interesting to listen to and the rare individual who is actually motivating, said that he wanted, "...the most important project that is not on management's radar."  I'm definitely not there, but I can still revel in being left alone.

Work Social Functions

My work had a half day social function at a local brew-pub where everyone was "strongly encouraged" to go.  I did not go.

I seem to be infected with some idiopathic melancholy torpor recently.  I guess that is a very verbose way of saying that I haven't been in the best of moods and for no reason.  I will chalk this up to nothing more than the ebb and flow of Midlife Malaise; likely just a local minima that will be gotten over quickly, or certainly no later than vacation which isn't too far off.

I'm not sure that hindsight brings clarity, or if it just brings a new wrong perspective, but I tried to think back on which years were overall good and which were overall bad.  That kind of binary categorization is impossible, so I created an arbitrary scale to do this.
I started it in high school - as the floor for how bad things could be.  There are many situations that could be worse than high school, but it still represents some kind of sub-basement for mental well-being.

There is a lot of noise in any given year, with some highs and some lows, but college was definitely a high point - potentially even artificially so.  Constantly on the steep side of the learning curve.  Always busy - trying to work and go to school full-time.  A lot of interesting friendships, even if some of them were short-lived and/or alcohol fueled.  No public shaming due to wearing the wrong shoes.  Even college-poverty wasn't too bad since there was a group catharsis in not having any money.

Graduation brought a somewhat painful job search, and eventual employment in a vocation relevant to my degree.  While this should have been even better than college, I was hired into a really, really bad situation.  "Oh, what have I gotten myself into."

I wasn't sure full employment could have gotten worse while still drawing a paycheck, but it did.  At this point, the fish started to finally see the water he was swimming in...

A change to a new job brought renewed hope that college wasn't wasted and was almost certainly worth the time, energy and money that went into it.

Things progressed along until the onset of Midlife Malaise.  Is this really it?  Thankfully, this drop in mental well-being isn't continuously permanant.
But this exercise does bring up an interesting point.  When talking about the midlife crisis, experts usually show a "U-Curve" with a minimum for life satisfaction somewhere around the late 40's to early 50's.  This may be right in aggregate, but for any one individual, there is a lot of noise - with life positives along with the negatives.  I suppose some of these can even happen simultaneously.  The low in the "U" may actually represent the depth and frequency of the low points in the noise.

More malaise can bring things down when it lasts beyond a certain amount of time.  The new house has overall been an improvement but was somewhat offset by the painful selling of the old house.  I sometimes wonder if I'm destined to live next to noisy people, or if everywhere just has noisy people?
I'm not sure if I'll still think this when I look back in a few years, but the last couple years have been fine.  Not great, but not bad either.
Still, adult life can get pretty monotonous.

While I would like to believe that life's dizzying highs and crushing lows appear to be smoothing out as I get older, it is probably dangerous to think that.  Involuntarily losing my job or being put in prison would probably be a new crushing low.  A financial windfall or falling ass-backwards into a perfect job could be a new dizzying high.  Outside of something like that, it does appear that life's highs and lows are smoothing out as I get older - and maybe that is where the midlife malaise begins to taper off.  Maybe.

Instead of going to the work social outing at the brew-pub, I sat forlornly at my desk and kept busy.  It isn't that my workload is so heinous that I couldn't afford the time to go, I just didn't want to, and I'm approaching a place in my life where that sometimes takes precedence.  Far too often, I have ended up trapped at these types of work functions talking with someone I really did not want to talk to or talking about a subject I really don't have any interest in talking about - sometimes both.  The conversations that I may want to have are nearly impossible with the threat of management around every corner; standing around without anything relevant to say is a near certainty.
The situation can also be very similar to the grocery store where I run into a casual acquaintance.  After the requisite banal pleasantries, we both return to picking out onions and mangos, inspecting them intently to avoid eye contact again - only to run into this same person in the potato chip aisle.  And the frozen food aisle...  When it happens the third time, I almost want to confront the situation and scream, "Look, one of us is going to have to finish grocery shopping another day because this continued interaction is just getting terrible for both of us."  Throw in enough brew-pub alcohol to be annoying, without enough for sufficient social lubrication and these things can just get painful.
While my life has no shortage of awkward interactions, I just don't see the need to purposefully put myself in those situations.  Yes, I'd rather just stay at work.

It's Good To Have Farmer Friends

Fall started this past week, but it sure doesn't feel like it.  Temperatures have been in a summer-like range of near 90F.  This is matched with a July humidity, bringing late afternoon pop-up rain and thunderstorms.  I think the air conditioner has run more in September than in August.  A heat wave is defined by dictionary.com as:  a prolonged period of abnormally hot weather - which seems to qualify.  The World Meteorological Organization has specified that a true heat wave must be at least five consecutive days where the maximum temperature exceeds the average by nine degrees.  So a finger-wagging meteorologist may point out that it isn't really a heat wave yet, but it has been steamy.  Al Gore says this is inconvenient as he continues to live a delightful 1% lifestyle.

It was seven years ago right now when the agreements were signed to buy my current house.  That day was hot as well, but it was a more typical late summer dry heat.  Among the things I didn't think too much about when I bought my house was the wadi running through the property.  Buying a house is fraught with unseen pitfalls.  Nothing will prepare someone for the reality of moving into a new place.  Real estate disclosures will be cloaked in words to minimize negatives while following the letter of the law.  Home inspectors make money on home sales - realtors will never recommend inspectors who honestly show all flaws resulting in more difficult home sales.  The home-selling industry is designed around making unlikely sales go through.  The buyer and seller are just along for the ride at some point.  But I have no complaints about my current house; nothing beyond a minor annoyance has reared its ugly head and after seven years, any issues at this point are mine and mine alone.
Over the last seven years, the wadi behind the house has slowly filled it.  My back yard is in a local low spot so it sees a fair amount of water.  When I moved in, the ditch was fairly deep and held  quite a bit of water.  Over that time, it has slowly filled in with silt and dirt.  This has been exasperated by drain tile that has failed.  From what I understand, there was a county project years ago which ran two drain tiles on either side of the wadi along its whole length (including far beyond my property line).  This drain tile has had multiple failures.  Two years ago, the result was a nearly year-round swamp.
"You don't know how lucky you are to live by a swamp."  Vic (Dan Aykroyd from the movie Neighbors)
I ended up digging a small trench from the fail drain tile to what remained of the wadi which deswampified the back yard, but created new minor issues as the wadi was largely flat.

In theory, I lease out the back part of my property for farming by a local farmer.  In practice, he has successfully traded capital improvements every year instead of actually paying me.  The actual dollar amount wouldn't be much so I'm OK with it, but the last two years he had issues doing what he said he would do.  This occasionally rankled me.  I asked him to dig out the wadi, not knowing if he was going to, but a few days ago he showed up with his backhoe, digging out a nice smooth trench.  I was thrilled.  This also gave me piles of dirt to fill in some low spots in my yard, especially where the dogs have dug to get at some critter.

I have been surprised how much water has infiltrated the wadi already given the lack of any real rain.  No doubt this is due to the failed drain tile.  It will be interesting to see what happens to this in the spring.

A secondary benefit of the return of the wadi is that I was able to bush-mow the property right up tot he edge of the ditch.  This will make it look better all winter and will help keep both weeds and vermin down.

A lot of the rural roads in the area are being repaired (and I use the term loosely) by chip seal.  I first encountered chip seal on my motorcycle road trip to Alaska and learned to live with it in the barely unfrozen North.  Locally though, they use a phenomenal amount of gravel compared to the scarcity mentality I saw in the Yukon.  There were piles and ridges of gravel several inches deep in some places.  I was almost home riding through the stuff with serious pucker-factor when a nearby neighbor started tail-gating me.  I'm not sure if she knew it was me or not, but it didn't help the situation much.  On a heavy motorcycle, recently layed chip seal might as well be a loose gravel road.  It might as well be a greased road.
Once swept up and hardened, chip seal isn't too bad, but I'll probably be going out of my way to avoid some of the worst roads, especially the ones that are lightly travelled where it may be weeks before excess gravel is swept up.

I guess even with the hot weather, the chip seal is a sign of the changing seasons.  Leaves are starting to fall.  Bean fields are becoming yellow.  Corn is dying.  Maybe fall is here?