I'll just entertain myself

Thanks.
My wife's last knee surgery while successful, was a nightmare initially. Changes in Medicare reduced the coverage she enjoyed, even though she has insurance provided by Teacher's Retirement. The first time they got her on her feet walking before discharging her. The second time they shuffled her out the door before she could walk. This took us by surprise, so I was not fully prepared bringing her home. I had built a ramp but did not anticipate a need for a wheelchair. As a result she had to ease herself scooting backwards up to the door and crawl inside the house. At the hospital, on announcing these changes, one of doctors said "We are not a charity." After the way my wife was treated I questioned why they would undertake such an important job if they were not going to see it through properly.

We do take the NHS for granted.

Got my cast iron skillet so well seasoned it's almost scary. But I will soon screw up and have to start it over.

Been there,done that. Not that it’s hard to resets on again. Just a bit bothersome as it means making the kitchen hot for awhile whileI heat up the stove.

I love making bacon 🥓 in it with eggs and smoked salmon bits.

Nice in winter. It heats the house in summer. I experimented with other cookware but always came back to the iron.

Love the way it heats up and predictably of it. I always know how to adjust. Also has beneficial health benefits as it contributes trace nutritional iron especially with acidic foods like tomatoes.

I have several, but my favorite seems to cover every need. I have a very nice clear lid for it.

We ate a nice ham dinner this evening. No other Easter activity for us. Going to take it easy and work on a story for a while.

He called himself Billy Bones. He said it was after a character in a movie. Because he felt like a marooned pirate in the jungle camps, same as the namesake.

Billy Bones was tall, rail-thin, with a carrotish beard, hung on a long face, with pale blue eyes. His eyebrows grew thick and long, giving him a bit of a wild look.

Bones was bustling. Being more than solicitous. He was teaching Arlen how to cook with discarded tin cans that were easily found throughout the ‘bo jungle. He put burning sticks under a can of water with sprinkled in coffee grounds.

“I picked a can with rust in it because we need iron,” he said.

He went around selecting cans for cups.

Arlen didn’t think rust could be a useful nutrient, but he didn’t see fit to argue. He wanted the coffee, which he hadn’t drunk any of in near a week. Arlen was no professional ’bo like Bones. He was just a young man on the way to Texas. The train he had come in on rested nearby, soon to resume its journey eastward. He planned to reclaim his boxcar at its leaving.

He watched Bones rinse the cans before putting them in the fire to kill off germs.



Bos are mindful of hygiene. Who knew?



Before he filled the can cups Bones pulled a flat bottle from his blue jeans hip pocket and poured in a shot to each. He handed Arlen his. Arlen accepted his can cup, holding it at the top rim to avoid the boiling heat further down. After Bones filled his own can cup they held their coffees a few minutes, allowing it to cool a bit.

Here in the barren stretch of the jungle, the dirt was the one place to sit. For that reason, Bones and Arlen did everything standing, even drink coffee. Arlen liked for Bones to keep talking as it relieved himself of having to think of things to say. Apparently, Bones didn’t mind at all.

Then Bones mentioned it was a good time to eat.

“Come with me and I’ll show you where to get it,” he said.

Reluctant, fearing he would miss his ride, Arlen hung back, until Bones reassured him, saying, “If you miss that one there will be another in a little while.”

Against his better judgment, Arlen followed along. He wouldn’t want to be too late to see his ailing mother.

They left the proximity of the railroad and the jungle, following a path not well-worn. It was almost a climb getting up it. At the last minute, Arlen saw what he judged to be a church or a monastery. Bones went up to a heavy door and swung the knocker. He waited. After a few minutes, a person opened the door enough of a crack to push through a sandwich. After accepting his, Bones stood aside and Arlen received his. The door immediately shut.

Arlen saw that he held a massive butterbean sandwich. By the time they made it down to the hobo jungle, the sandwiches had been consumed. As they approached the site of bones’ campfire, Arlen looked up to see his train rolling away, picking up speed. It was not about to get away from him.

His pounding feet caught up behind the last boxcar. Against the shouted warnings by Bones to let it go, Arlen wrapped his fingers around the grab iron and hoisted himself onto the bottom ladder rung.

“Don’t let go,” Billy Bones hollered, as he drifted into the background.

Arlen knew he would be slammed into railroad ties and rocks should he fall; his body would be shattered. The train rapidly went into the dusk. In a matter of minutes, Arlen was riding in the dark, with the railroad cars shaking more violently than he could have expected. He wondered if he would ride this way all night. His senses were on the highest alert for over an hour. And then the train slowed. It stopped in some dark place for a reason unknown.

He jumped down to run along the line in search of an open door. The train moved. The cars shook into motion, each car, in turn, receiving the shock of renewed tension. The movement became increasingly fast. He hoped to be able to spot a gaping hole in a boxcar before too late.

Arlen found one just in time. He pulled himself up by the bar and scrambled inside. Spent, he made his way to a deep end and lay down on his back, his emotions shouting hallelujahs to the darkness. His weary body pulled him into slumber by degrees. As he slowly surrendered, he ran a salute through his mind to all of the disposed and the hoboes he had been encountering on his adventures in America, both by hitchhiking and jumping on freights. He knew that as soon as his mother got better, he would be off again. For his itchy feet could not allow him to settle. Only his older days could slow him. All his journeys would honor the like of Billy Bones, generous to a fault while having virtually nothing for himself. For Billy was not special among the breed. He was the norm.

When we came home this morning from buying groceries, I looked up and saw a car I did not recognize as I unloaded the bags. I immediately locked the gate. Local Houston news is rife with stories of individuals arriving home and getting robbed and assaulted by thugs that followed them there. The car in question went down the street and turned around. It went back toward the entrance. I don't consider this an act of being overly cautious.

Not at all.

I didn't feel very comfortable when I was in Houston, too many stories of police brutality.

I stayed with a friend from college who was working at the British consulate. He did a bit of drama and all the other male members of his drama were gay.

Most of the people I met socially in Houston were gay, and it was very much a community with powerful enemies.

I'm glad not to have to worry about guns.

Almost fifty years ago I was hitching through Houston after completing a job that as it turned out mailed my checks to my home address rather than simply handing them over. I had zero cash. I was arrested and spent three day on a jail "pea farm." Giving them free labor. During the initial booking process, I and two others were aligned shoulder to shoulder near an open doorway. A new arrestee was pushed into place beside me. He was a slightly built white guy and he stood with his hands at his sides like the rest of us. Less than a minute after he arrived a police officer launched himself out that doorway, swinging a fist with all his might that caught the new arrival on a cheekbone. The man went bodily through the doorway, flying backward. Never to be seen by any prisoners after that.

When it came to my turn to get booked the same officer, who was still sucking on his injured knuckle, looked up from his desk with a hungry look and said, after seeing my out of state license, "Are you a Yankee?"

I ket my eyes down and said, "No, sir."

The other officer in attendance gave me a nod of approval and I went through into the system. A moneyless vagabond, essentially, on being released in the heart of town, I concentrated on getting home rather than fighting for justice. I would almost guarantee the same situation exists fifty years later.

In my last post I told a story that I have been reliving daily for two or three weeks. Triggered by the local news program where there is a new weathercaster who looks nearly identical to the young man that got socked. The resemblance is uncanny, as they say.

I kicked reading Pearls Before Swine last month. I've found I don't miss it. It used to be among my top favorites. I find it redundant and often shrill. Oh well, I had fun with it for a long time.

Another comic strip, one I followed my entire life, is Alley Oop. I finally gave up reading new strips, as the new team knows not how to tell a story and has reduced Oop to a witless buffoon for a daily gag. The original author of Oop was a historian who knew the history behind the stories he told of a time travelling caveman. V T Hamlin knew dinosaurs and humans didn't live in the same time frame but it made for some wonderful storytelling. He just incorporated some real history with his fantasies after the appearance of Dr Wonmug and his time machine. I had to give up on the new team who took over a year or two back.

I've experimented with Brave a few times in the past. Then, it seemed there were too many obstacles to getting into favorite sites because many are products of Google, such as my blog. Constantly logging in. Apparently they've made improvements because I went to it yesterday and all went smoothly. So much so that Brave is now my default browser. I really love it now.

Came home from eating out this evening and saw a young man picking up the street trash. It's good to have help. I hope he makes it a regular thing.

Over here such people are given hi viz jackets with volunteer in big black letters so they're not seen as criminals.

That would be a good thing. When I first saw him I wondered what he was up.

One of my granddaughters living out of state is going to bring my great grandbabies by around mother's day. It will be the first time I've seen two of them. I'm always amazed how quickly kids grow up.