Had my annual visit with my doctor this morning, and had a number of questions for him. I was surprised, but relieved by his frankness in answering them. . . .

Q: Doctor, I’ve heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that’s it…. Don’t waste time on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart does not make you live longer; that’s like saying you can extend the life of a car by driving faster. Want live longer? Take nap..

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What do cows eat? Hay and corn. What are these? Vegetables. So, steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And pork chops can give 100% recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine. That means they take water out of the fruity bit; gets even more of goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up!

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: If you have a body and you have fat, the ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, ratio is two to one, etc.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Cannot think of single one, sorry. My philosophy: No Pain…Good!

Q: Aren’t fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU’RE NOT LISTENING!!! ….. Foods fried in vegetable oil. How can getting more vegetables be bad for you?

Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise muscle, it get bigger. You should only do sit-ups if want a bigger stomach.

Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: You crazy? HELLO …. Cocoa beans! Vegetable!!! Cocoa beans best feel-good food around!

Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming good for figure, then explain whales to me.

Q: Is getting in-shape important for my lifestyle?
A: Hey! ‘Round’ is shape!

Well, I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.

AND…..

Here’s the final word on nutrition and health. It’s a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies:

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

4 The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

5. The Germans drink a lot of beers and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION…..

Eat and drink what you like.. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

For only the 2nd time in the last 16 years, I am not spending the first week of October getting up at ‘oh dark thirty and heading for a long, sometimes freezing, morning chasing a balloon. I thought it wouldn’t bother me, it is, after all, just a week of my time.

It started in August of 1993 when my wife made a causal comment to a co-worker that she had always wanted to go up in a hot air balloon. Just a casual comment in idle conversation, nothing really expected by it, but two weeks later, we get a phone call from a stranger, who a friend had passed our contact information to, about helping with their balloon. Debbie and Gary, had just purchased a new balloon, and the 90,000 cubic feet of hot air was a lot for their current current crew to handle, asking if we would we like to help. . . And so started a new friendship and a new hobby.

We started by meeting that first day, for a shake down flight, and got our first taste of what is involved in flying a balloon. we had a few weekends before balloon fiesta and think we used all but one to learn the ropes, but by Fiesta time, Merlin’s Dragon Magic was as much our balloon as it was the Gary and Deb’s.

Since I had some weight behind me, Gary got me on the crown. My job was to hold a 100′ length of rope, tied to the top of the balloon, and to keep it from blowing around, and when we go hot, to keep her from standing up too fast. Mary Lynn was trained to install the crown. The crown is the top of the balloon that when inflating, keeps the air from going out the top, but when descending, the pilot will control by letting air out. Her job was to put it in so it will both hold the air when inflating, yet let the pilot pull out when ready.

Come our first Fiesta as chase crew members, we found our other job just a important, and sometimes, more challenging….. Crowd Control. The opening day is always interesting. over 100,000 people flock to the field to view the balloons. Unlike just about any other spectator sport, the spectators are actually allowed on the field while the activity is going on, and to keep that many people from stepping on the delicate balloons, and not get hit or tripped up when inflating and standing, is a challenge by itself, much less when you are trying to take care of your business. We were learning what being a member of a chase crew was all about….. but wait, we only wanted a balloon ride. It was not our intent to “get involved.” This was fun, but…..

Unfortunately for my wife, it was I that was called out that first morning of Fiesta…. “Hop In!” as I was tying the crown line to the basket. Surely not for me, then again only louder….”Hop IN!” and Gary was looking at me. Here it was… opening day of Balloon Fiesta, and I was going up in the Mass Ascension. 800 balloons, the largest gathering of Hot Air in the world, and I am going to be in the middle of it. . . and I forgot my camera!

Before lift off I got the briefing, and found out that I was not a passenger, but actually expected to help Gary fly. He wanted my eyes and ears to watch for balloons below us, beside us and above us. Point until he acknowledges he sees was I see. What absolute fun.

After lift off, we headed south, out of the park, then he ascended another 100 feet, and we started heading north…. The Albuquerque Box was in effect. (the box is a condition only found in a few places around the world, where the air currents allow for boxing. One layer blows one direction and the next layer, blows exactly opposite. If allowed, a balloon could stay over the park for its entire trip) We headed north over the Rio Grande, headed for Bernalillo. It was surprising how still everything was. You could understand conversations that were 400′ below you, dogs barking sound like they were right next to you and the sound of the balloon burners were like dragons talking in flight. The 45 minute flight had us about 15 miles from where we started, and the chase crew had lost us for about 20 minutes of that time, but they found us just in time for a landing in which the crew actually caught us. Not so much as a bump on the landing. (I would learn later that week what the opposite of a perfect landing is, but that is another story.)

The best description I have heard about hot air balloon flight, is the total lack of sensation. Though you might be 1,000′ from the ground, you don’t experience the height (acrophobics usually do not have a problem if you can get them in the balloon to begin with.) You don’t feel the wind in your face… in fact, you can light a match and the flames stands straight, regardless of the speed of the wind. In the balloon, you are traveling the same speed, you do not feel it.) It really is very relaxing, and easy to get caught up in the ride… but I still had to stay focused and look out for others.

This was the start of 14 years as a member of Deb and Gary’s crew. There was one Fiesta where during the week, I was the only crew member (not an easy task is it Deb?) I met many many friends that I would only see at Fiesta or other ballooning events. Mary Lynn and I started crewing weekly during late summer/early fall. We were hooked. It became so much more than the balloon ride we had set out for.

Even when we moved to Denver in 2000, Balloon Fiesta was the highlight of our year and we would get back for the full week.

In 2008, I was laid off from work, and had to skip the Fiesta when I started a new job, just before that first week in October, which unfortunately, Deb and Gary decided to retire from balloon ownership, and the ride was over.

Last year, I was upset that I could not be there for Merlin’s last Fiesta flight, but this year, I am finding myself pining for that balloon flight, just one more time…….

I remembered my camera for my last flight in Merlin’s Dragon Magic. Though, not my last Fiesta, my last flight was in 2004 and I took this picture just after lift off. The gray truck, left of center is the chase truck, and Mary Lynn can be seen waving.

Three Beers?

Two glasses of wine?

Two bottles of wine, shared?

Half a pitcher of Margaritas?

Three Kamikazes?

Six rum and cokes?

One large purple haze?

Four Manhattan’s?

One bottle of tequila?

You tell me, I need to go lay down!

Today I decided I would walk to lunch. After all, Denny’s is only about a half mile from my office, and the thunderclouds are “way” over the mountains and surely I have time to walk, eat and walk back before the Colorado Summer rain sets in….. WRONG! “It’s Colorado, and it has been raining since May you idiot!”

The rain let up a bit, so I pay my bill and head back, maybe I can make it before it really starts…… Wrong again, but at least the hail waited until I got inside.

As I run (trotted, to old to run) through the rain, it made me think of how things change as we get older. It used to be that we waited for days like this. We would be inside, and as soon as the rain came, we went out to play in it. Of course it could be that we grew up in the deserts of El Paso, in far West Texas, and rain was a rarity,  but I do not think that is  it.  Doesn’t every  kid, regardless of where they live, like to play in the rain?   Could it be that as we grow up, things like getting wet from the rain is too inconvenient or it is just too uncouth to walk into work soaking wet?  And don’t we go out of our way to stay dry and avoid it when we can?

Sometimes I wish I would just walk in the rain for the fun of it, not because I had to in order to get back to work.  Or, getting wet was part of the fun rather than the inconvenience.  Even though I had four people comment about being able to tell who went out to lunch today, just from the door to my cubicle (100 yards,) I found it rather refreshing to have soaking wet hair, and half soaked clothing and soggy socks; and for some reason, I just smiled at the comments. No excuses necessary, I just enjoyed a walk in the rain.

And yes, we got our first mountain snow in the storm Sunday night!  It is just around the corner.   As wet as the Spring and Summer have been, who knows what is in store for us this fall and winter.  I guess I better get my snow blower out and serviced and load up on the fire wood!   DANG!  I forgot, we have a gas fire place, not a wood burning one.   Don’t want to pollute Boulder County. <just a touch of sarcasm>  Guess it is time to light the pilot.

Below is a poem I ran across while going through old family pictures and photographs. This was on the back of a pencil sketch of my grandmother, as it was dedicated to the artist, Terrence Clark, by his friend, Glenn Berry.

Up Gold Creek Way –

The memories of yesteryear’s
Were pleasantly renewed,
As on a stool and artist sat,
The canvas well imbued
With the image of an ancient tree
Whose cots the ground had strewed.

As a boy I sat there on a bed
Whose roll was lashed up tight,
and kept night herd on the cattle bunched,
As they chewed their cuds all night.
Three score and more are the years that’s fled
Since that tree sheltered me,
but a vigil was kept for all that time
On the bedground round that tree.

Year in, year out, its blossoms come.
Some years to bear no fruit,
But the season never has showed up
Without its glorious debut.

O, Artist, would that your efforts then
Inspire us mortal men
To pass out sagely honest help
To our youth with deeds and pen.
May our hoary heads think twice each time,
And then more humble be
As we teach our young to build our land
And guide its destiny.

by Anonymous –

Oh, many, many years ago
When I was twenty-three
I was married to a widow
Who was pretty as can be
This widow had a grown-up daughter
Who had hair of red
My father fell in love with her
And soon the two were wed

This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life
For my daughter was my mother
‘Cause she was my father’s wife
To complicate the matter
Though it really brought me joy
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy

This little baby then became
A brother-in-law to Dad
And so became my uncle
Though it made me very sad
For if he was my uncle
Then that also made him brother
Of the widow’s grown-up daughter
WHo of course is my step-mother

My father’s wife then had a son
Who kept them on the run
And he became my grandchild
For he was my daughter’s son
My wife is now my mother’s mother
And it makes me blue
Because although she is my wife
She’s my grandmother too

Now if my wife is my grandmother
Then I’m her grandchild
And every time I think of it
It nearly drives me wild
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw
As husband of my grandma
I am my own grandpa

One of my past time has been dabbling in genealogy and to my immediate family, I am the quasi family historian and thought I would relate an absolutely true, yet funny, anecdote on relaying family history to my oldest son.

Many years ago, when Jarrod was in 7th or 8th grade, he had a home work assignment to write a story about some member of his family that was at least grand parents or older.  Naturally he came to me for his research and we had a discussion on the Clark Family Tree.  I pulled out my charts and showed the Clark line back to Batt Peterson Clark Sr, around 1820 and his wife’s, Mary E Thweatt, back to 1630 and early VA.   He asked me about the origin of Batt Peterson, and I explained that in that period of history, the family lineage was kept by the given names and that several families by the name of Batt, Peterson, Thweatt had a long migration  history in which they stayed together.   Batts’ mother was Rebbecca Peterson, and her mother was a Batt, thus the lineage name of Batt Peterson Clark. This lead to me explaining that my middle name is Berton, which, in the same tradition,  is my grandmothers maiden name.

After a fairly long discussion on our family history, Jarrod stopped the conversation with a comment that took me by total surprise.  He looked at me and said that he had just come up with the name for his first son.  He thought that Batt was a cool name, and since it was family historical, he would want to keep it alive.  Then in the tradition handed down to me by giving the grandmother’s maiden name, he would use my mother’s for the middle name.

That would make Jarrod’s first son’s name — Batt Mann Clark

An idle thought from a not so idle mind. . . .

From my raspberry post, I was reminded of how far communication has come and the fact we are living in what future historians will surely label the Communication Age.

Six year old kids that have their own cell phone, and kids texting and twittering every event of their day, no matter how mundane.  Adults who spend hours in Facebook, MySpace and Yahoo and any number of “social networks” available; who can find any information they are looking for with the typing of a couple key words.  (How I found Terry and his BlogSpot.)   News feeds per our interests are fed directly to our phones, not even a need to turn on the TV to stay up with the news we are interested in.   The only reason to go to Western Union is to send Jr his monthly allowance while in school.  Kids as well as adults that find sitting in front of a computer and playing World of War Craft takes every spare, and not so spare, moment, that used to be spent falling into water tanks, or being stung by a yellow jacket while playing and filling up on freshly picked berries.   Surely this is progress.

In my genealogy file, I have letters and short telegrams (original twitters?) of five sons trying to stay in touch with their estranged mother from all points of the globe.  Envelopes from a son who is an artist, and sends his mom a new drawing on every letter.  Letters from sons doing their patriotic duty from on board a destroyer in the Pacific or in a radio shack in the Aleutian Islands.  News of winning a contest to find the fastest typist in the country (on a 1920′s manual typewriter no less) (what is a typewriter?)  A complete history, or at least 20 years of history, permanently captured on pieces of paper, post marked envelops and yellowing telegrams, held for posterity by family members.   Surely today’s information is so much better!

All that history and mundane updates for the lives of our children, all lost in the ether at best, or in some government database at worst.  Not to be read by posterity unless, of coarse,  we give reason for someone to launder our dirt.  Then the world will read it all!

You tell me. . .  Is this really progress, or am I just an old fuddy duddy, living to much in the past?

An idle thought from a not so idle mind. . . .

Yesterday, while picking raspberries from my garden, I was reminded of a time, as a child, that I spent at my Grandmothers place in Whitesboro, Tx.  It reminded me first of her garden on a small farm in North Central Texas where she had several rows of berry bushes along with rows of corn, tomatoes, a small orchard and other sundry items that you would find in a ventage victory garden.    I remembered the small yellow farmhouse, with a detached apartment and car port where Mr Reasor (my step-granddad) parked his Woody, and had cane fishing poles strung across the ceiling.   The smells of that garden and the aroma of the baking from her kitchen, and the fresh air only found on small rural farms, all took me back to a time when I was more innocent, and had so many fewer things to worry about.

As I thought about my grandmother and Mr. Reasor and the time spent by a 10 year old boy at his grandmothers house.   I thought it would make a good post for my Facebook Wall, so I reminisced about my time there on my new “Wall”.    Almost immediately, my cousin read my post and added his memories of Grandmother and her old farm house in Texas.

I had just reconnected with Terry Mike after more than 40 years since our last visit, and in fact joined face book after reading his blog as well as being inspired to try my hand at writing.  But I digress……

When Terry started adding his memories,  we chatted not only about Grandmother,  but also about our dads,  who have been gone these many years,  and our families.    We chatted about the 5 brothers who grew up in Comanche OK,  who all went on to fulfilling,  yet diverse, lives.   Louis,  the oldest of the brothers,  taught Chemistry for 30 years,  retiring as Dean of the Department at South Carolina before moving to Honduras to continue teaching to the less fortunate.   Then there was Rex, a retired Air Force Colonel with 30 + years in Medical Administration who lived to share his love of literature.    Terrence, Terry’s father,  was a renowned artist from Albuquerque, with a wooden leg.   He was the free spirit of the family,  and his brothers lived his spirit through his art.   Champ, my dad, was a successful salesman and entrepreneur who is remembered for his laugh,  his sentimental tears and his generosity.   The youngest was Mike,  the world traveler.   He was a Fulbright Scholar that spent years in the Middle East in the 50’s and early 60’s,  teaching.   He is the last of the brothers still living,  sharing the family legacy with anyone who will listen.

All of these memories because of a quart of raspberries I picked in my garden! In an age where communication has never been greater,  I not only reconnected with memories, but found a part of my family.   Instead of typing, or God forbid, writing out,  a letter or an occasional telegram just to touch base with home, we live in an age of  iPhones, Twitter, Facebook and Google, with communication, from anywhere,  just a text away, which can lead to a visit long over due and a chance to remember.

Terry and I finished our chat with a toast to our dads . . .”Here’s to those who remember and to those who are remembered…. Salud!”

An idle thought from a not so idle mind. . . .

Idle thoughts are not necessarily from idle minds but rather the material that leads to inspiration.     I will be organizing my idle thoughts into stories and vignettes that I hope will be interesting to those who read and/or follow my posts.  From memories of actual events to fantasies that lighten the day, these will be my inspired, idle thoughts.

Stay Tuned!