Bruce A. Borders: Oregon

Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Burning Memories

I’ve heard that history repeats itself, and I’m thinking that may be true. I started this blog in September of 2011, six years ago. At the time, I only planned to do it for a year or so. But here we are in 2017 and it’s become a regular Sunday night ritual; write something, type it up, and post it to the blog.

Sometimes I’m not really sure what to write about, not sure anything I have to say will be interesting to anyone. Other times, I feel inspired and write way too much—as my wife makes sure to tell me!

So today, I was wondering what to write and walked out on my deck to think—and saw the smoke. Lots of smoke, filling the sky. That’s really nothing new; the last couple of months we’ve seen quite a lot of smoky skies. But, since I was thinking of my blog, the smoke reminded me of my very first post—Fire Season.

I went back and read the post and although it’s six years old, it sounds almost like I’m describing the current conditions. But then, we have fires every year so that’s not too surprising. Still, it definitely seems like history is repeating itself. And so, in keeping with that theme, I’ve re-posted the first post below.

Fire Season

Smoke to the west. No black ominous billows, just a brownish tinged haze mixed with dingy white puffy clouds rising into the clear blue summer sky. A brushfire most likely, or maybe grass. Winds are particularly light at 5 mph. No cause for alarm, fire fighters will have the blaze extinguished in short order.

This is the fourth fire this week within sight of my house. The others were put out in less than a day causing no major damage, rather remarkable considering the high wind area and extremely dry conditions. This is all typical for the arid climate of the central Oregon high desert, but this year has been fairly mild with relatively few fires. The surrounding landscape is only slightly marred with the grayish black sooty remains of sparse vegetation.

And now, the September air is turning cooler reminding us that the fall rains will be returning soon, marking an end of the fire season, a.k.a. summer. The good news is that we’ve all survived with our personal property mostly intact. The bad news is winter is on its way, which means snow—and lots of it. The frozen white crystals will cover the ground, blanket the sagebrush and juniper trees, and decorate the distant mountain ranges, creating a picturesque scene of majestic grandeur.

Admittedly, the snow is pretty but snow brings its own set of problems - the cold, the slick roads and resulting wrecks, the roof cave-ins, and avalanches, which can potentially destroy entire areas in an instant. Yet, despite its foreboding and destructive nature, snow is a necessary evil. It provides the high desert with a vital water supply for the coming summer months in a region prone to draught. Aside from the usual benefits of drinking, cooking and cleaning, we’re gonna need the water—to put out the fires! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Monday, August 28, 2017

Out In The Sun Too Long?

Good news! I survived the eclipse! And, I assume, if you’re reading this you survived as well. Or not. I have no definitive proof that my blog isn’t read by the dearly departed; though common sense says no. Speaking of common sense, I’m pretty sure that’s a rare form of thinking on the verge of extinction.

Standing in a long line at the store the other day, I heard a guy say he’d like to view the next solar eclipse from the perspective of the sun—looking back toward the Earth. He told us he was already checking into travel arrangements. Okay, then.

Apparently, the guy has never heard how far away the sun is. (Not to mention the availability of flights to the sun is sort of limited. Severely limited. As in none.) I guess he’s never heard how hot the sun is either. And that, even if he could somehow manage to get there and not burn up, trying to find the Earth would be rather difficult.

I didn’t say anything because well, the only things I could think of were not polite! (Yes, I do know how to be polite—at times). However, another guy in line wasn’t as nice. “You’re joking right?”

The would-be space traveler insisted he certainly was not. The two of them argued the finer points traveling to the sun for a few minutes before the sane one gave up. Looking at me, he rolled his eyes and shook his head slowly. I just nodded—with a smirk on my face, I’m sure.

And that would be the real reason I chose to not get involved in the conversation; a rational and reasonable person stands no chance against utter insanity—and after listening to Solar Man talk, I’m convinced he wasn’t dealing with a full deck. What’s worse though, is there were at least a couple of people in line who seemed to agree with him. See why I say common sense is in danger of becoming lost forever?

I know the eclipse is over but I think these people are still very much in the dark. On a related note: marijuana use is now legal in Oregon! ~

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Sunday, August 20, 2017

The Dark Side Of The Sun

Did someone mention something about a solar eclipse? Think I heard that somewhere—amid all the dire warnings of how Oregon’s economy is going to crash. The theory was a sudden influx of a million or more people would strain supply chains, such as food, gas, ATM’s, as well as disrupt phone and Internet service. Traffic was also a big concern. All this of course was supposed to lead to much mayhem and chaos with a possible failure of the power grid. The total eclipse would bring total destruction—if one listened to the nitwits in charge. They, and the so-called experts, were predicting some very dark days.

I agree that a million additional people crammed into a small area would cause a few problems, temporarily (in a few days, things would go back to normal). I just didn’t think that many would actually show up. And apparently, they didn’t. Sure, the cities in the direct line for the full effect of the eclipse have a few visitors. I’ve seen pictures, and there are a lot of people, but nowhere close to what was expected. And so far, there have been no ill effects, at least not in my neck of the woods. In fact, I saw virtually no difference in traffic levels, or anything else, in the last few days.

Granted, Monday afternoon may be a different story—when those people who did show up all leave at once. But that will be short-lived. By the time I get home from work late Monday night—or early Tuesday morning, depending on your perspective—I’m thinking they will be long gone.

Since the event is taking place near my house, I will get up early to view it. But I’m not driving the two hours it would take to see the eclipse in its totality. I might think differently had I not already witnessed a total eclipse—in the very town in which I now live—back in 1979.

I remember it well and as I recall, the only thing that happened then was it got dark for a few minutes during the day. I’m guessing that this time, history may repeat itself—the day will turn dark, then light again, and it will be over. No catastrophic calamities. But I could be wrong. The disastrous devastation may eclipse all expectations. I’ll let you know next week—if I’m still here. ~

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Monday, July 10, 2017

Insecticide Needed

You know what bugs me? Bugs. Among other things, of course. I’d hate to imply that I find nothing else in the world annoying. I find a lot of things annoying these days but I don’t have time to list them all. So, for now, I’ll just concentrate on bugs. The creepy crawly insects, or all insects for that matter, are extremely irritating.

I’ve lived where there a lot of bugs, where there are very few bugs, and some places in between. Where I currently live, we don’t usually have a bug problem. But some years are worse than others. This year, we seem to have been overrun with crickets—large crickets that cover the highway at times. They like to eat anything and everything, which means gardens and lawns are not faring so well. Thankfully, they are letting up and should soon be gone. But...

The crickets seem to have been replaced with gnats. There are thousands of swarming little creatures that descend in a cloud and make life miserable. Driving through these “clouds” leaves your windshield plastered with a thick gooey substance that is very hard to remove. I took my pickup through the car wash the other day and while most of the dirt was gone afterward, the gnats remained. It usually takes me about an hour to clean the windshield—and that only lasts until I go to work again. So, I tend to let it go for a while—I’m waiting to get pulled over for having an obstructed view.

I know, those of you who live in humid areas with a mélange of bugs are not feeling too sympathetic. And you’re probably thinking I should just learn to deal with it. Well, you’re right. And I am—by venting about it in this post.

Okay, blog rant is over. Time to do something else. Maybe I’ll go clean my windshield—it’s starting to bug me. ~

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Sunday, July 2, 2017

Take The Long Way Home

Had a chance this past week to see some parts of Oregon that I’d never seen before. I suppose that was nice but it wasn’t really a planned outing so it was a little aggravating too.

I’d gone to my son’s house to help him with a project and was returning home. I’d made it only about forty miles when all traffic was routed off the freeway. The sign said “Road Closed” with no explanation as to why. Heading back to the nearest truck stop, I went inside and learned the road was shut down due to fire. There was no estimated time of re-opening.

I waited for a half an hour to see if they would update the travel information and when they did not, I decided to use an alternate route. Sometimes a wildfire can keep a road closed for days and I wanted to get home. When I started my pickup, the people parked beside me—with Kansas plates on their car—perked up, asking if the road was open. I said no and told them I was going around. Immediately, they wanted to know how far it was to take the other road and if they could follow me.

I said I had no problem with them following me and when I told them it would add about 125 miles to get to the next town, a town that was only 65 miles down the freeway, they seemed excited. But when I clarified it would take about three hours due to switchbacks up and down the mountains, they didn’t seem so thrilled.

“Could be longer too, if you get behind someone going slow, there ain’t a lot a room to pass up there. It the vehicle in front is going ten miles an hour, everybody will go ten miles an hour.” I didn’t want them blaming me when their trip turned into four hours or more.

They eventually decided against taking the detour. “We’ll just wait for the main road to open. This is our first time in the mountains,” the guy explained. “I’m not comfortable driving on a mountain road with switchbacks. Especially one I’ve never been on before.”

I said okay and took off.

Thing is, I’d never been on the road either. Not all of it anyway—I had been on the switchbacks before. But then, even if I hadn’t it shouldn’t make a difference, one set of mountain switchbacks is about like any other. Of course, I grew up around mountains so it all seems normal to me. For the folks from Kansas, I guess I can see why they’d be leery.

After I got up there, I was glad they hadn’t followed. There were no guardrails in most places, it was getting dark about the time I reached the summit, and parts of the road were needing repair—the sides were crumbling. Not a good place for someone new to mountains and if they’d been behind me, I might have felt obligated to go slower so they could keep up. Then that would have made me a bit cranky. This little detour was already costing me a few hours.

Thinking all this, I was happily cruising along, when ahead, I see a semi. It took only a couple of minutes, if that, to catch him. And then, I followed the taillights of the truck—at ten miles an hour! Yep, ten miles and hour, just like I’d suggested earlier. And that was our top speed! For the next six miles! If I’d known my words were going to be prophetic, I’d have padded my estimate, by 45 miles an hour or so! That would have gotten me home a lot sooner.

As for the people from Kansas: Although I didn’t see them again, the freeway was opened shortly after I left on my alternate route, so I’m sure they beat me to the next town by several hours! Oh, well, I eventually made it home—and got to see some parts of Oregon that I’d never seen before! ~

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Sunday, January 8, 2017

That's Cold

I thought I’d left behind the sub-zero temperatures when I moved from Wisconsin back to Oregon nineteen years ago. And I had, until this year. Not that it doesn’t get cold in Oregon, it does—but not usually where I live. Cold here means the thermometer is hovering around 25-30 degrees. But this year...

This year, things are a bit on the frigid side. The past week I saw a minus sign on the temperature WAY too much. Every day, I think. The coldest was -8, which for a lot of people, that might not be too bad but when I’m working outside, it’s COLD! Yes, I’ve been in much colder temps, even worked outside in them, but now that I’ve acclimated to a warmer climate, my body doesn’t deal well with weather that refuses to go above zero. Or, maybe I’m just older than I used to be.

If you saw last week’s post, you may remember I had a lingering cold, and I still do. It’s hard to get better with all the time I spend outside in this weather. Even when I get home from work, there’s shoveling to do.

But then, there is a bright side to all of my woes. My grandson loves to help grandpa shovel. Sometimes that means dumping a shovel full of snow on my head, or putting the snow back on the sidewalk I’ve just cleaned but the look on his face while he is “helping” makes it all worth it.

A few weeks ago, he was helping clear off the deck and behind me, I hear his sweet three-year-old voice say, “Grandpa, I’m really sorry. But, I love you.”

When I turned around to see what had happened, I was met by a huge snowball to the face. The light fluffy snow easily broke apart and found its way inside my coat and the filtered down my neck. I let out a gasp and after catching my breath, went inside to dry off and warm up. My grandson thought it was a slap-the-leg hilarious moment.

Yesterday, we were again shoveling off the deck and having learned my lesson, I didn’t turn my back to him. Of course, that didn’t deter the child. With no warning this time, he scooped up a shovel of snow and, as I’d taught him, threw it. Except it’s supposed to go over the deck railing. This particular shovel full came right at my head.

As I was trying to clean the snow off my hat and face and yes, down my neck again, I hear the little voice say, “Grandpa, do you remember that I love you?”

Yes, I did, I told him. In fact, I think I’ll remember he loves me for quite a while, probably every time I’m cold. And this year, that will be often. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

Monday, October 17, 2016

Seal Of Disapproval

I learned something last week; seals are rather vindictive creatures!

While at the coast last weekend, my wife and I, along with our daughter and grandson, visited an aquarium. One of the features of this aquarium is they allow visitors to feed the seals. The food they provide is authentic seal food—otherwise known as fish.

My grandson was okay with handling the fish (much to his mother’s dismay) but after touching a particularly slimy one, he decided it would be best to let grandpa do the feeding. And that’s how I came to be standing beside a pool of ocean-like salt water tossing fish to a group of seals.

As one can imagine, the seals have discovered that performing tricks tends to get them more fish and they are quite active in this regard. They clap, stand on their tail fin, swim sideways and wave—anything to get attention.

I appreciated their efforts and felt compelled to reward them but I also wanted to distribute the food fairly. I didn’t want any of them left out, they might feel bad! So, after “paying” the most outgoing ones, I began concentrating on the few timid ones in the back. But one of the more active and agile seals thought he’d show me how well he could jump—and catch. As I lobbed a fish to the rear of the pool, he shot out of the water, snatching the fish out of the air, nearly out of the mouth of the seal I’d thrown it to.

Since I like to talk to animals as if they are people, I started scolding the fish thief. I told him he wasn’t very nice and taking another seal’s food wasn’t being fair. “You already had yours,” I said. “You’re a seal, not a pig.” And then I added, “You really need to learn to share.”

With one fish remaining, I stepped a little closer to the tank and, telling Mr. Fish Bandit it wasn’t for him, after a fake throw to the side, I threw it directly to the seal in the back. He caught it and then clapped for me.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself (yes, for outsmarting a seal—but hey, I’ve heard they are one of the most intelligent creatures) when I saw the fin on the seal who felt he’d been slighted come out of the water. Saw it go back. And then I saw it start moving forward. I knew what was coming but not soon enough to move out of the way of the big spray of water that shot toward me. And soaked me! Apparently, he hadn’t appreciated my lecture, or the fact that I hadn’t given him the last fish. I don’t know if seals can actually smirk or not but I’m fairly sure this one was!

Of course, my grandson thought it all was hilarious, as did his mother, along with my wife and a few other visitors who had been watching. Amid the laughter, I heard a little boy tell his dad, “You can feed them, I don’t want to get splashed.”

As we were leaving, people were still smiling when they saw the water dripping off of me. Yeah, I’m glad that getting drenched by a spiteful seal helped make everyone’s day! On the bright side, I didn’t have to add any salt to my food when we went out to eat later! ~

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Sunday, October 9, 2016

To See The Sea

Well, in case anyone is wondering, the ocean is still there! This I know, I just went and checked. And there it was briny foam and all, just like it has been for thousands of years. Not that I had any doubts, but my grandson, who is turning three today, thought we needed to make sure.

His mother had planned a seaside visit for his birthday and after learning I would be going along, he said, “Yeah, you need to go. We need to make sure the ocean is still there.” When I asked where he thought it might be, he gave me an incredulous look and said matter-of-factly, “At the beach.” I’m sure he was thinking his grandpa needed more schooling.

October though, is not really the best time to visit the beach—at least in Oregon. Both days we were there, it was rainy, cold, and windy. Very windy—enough to blow the wet sand around. But none of that mattered to a little boy celebrating his birthday. For some reason, he seemed to be able to ignore the inclement weather better than the rest of us.

Actually, even for the adults it wasn’t all that bad. We chose a lot of indoor activities but we did manage to make it down to the beach too, right down to where the water was coming up to greet us, washing up crabs, sand dollars, and other creatures.

We spent some time exploring and then playing in the sand: building a sand castle, making things, and just digging. Oh yeah, and throwing sand into the air. Okay, only my grandson threw the sand, I just happened to be the one who was the recipient of his antics, thanks to gravity. Good thing I wear a hat, I guess!

Watching him was quite entertaining and made for an enjoyable trip—despite the weather. Somewhere, amid all the fun my grandson looks at me and says, “I told you this is where the ocean is.”

Yeah, like I’m the one who was wondering! ~

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Monday, March 7, 2016

Faster Is Better, Isn't It?

I drive a lot. And see a lot of things. And having a dedicated run, I see mostly the same things every day. Every week, month, and year, I’m looking at the same scene that I’ve seen many times before. But, this past week I saw something I hadn’t seen in years. Since 1974 in fact.

What did I see? A 70 mph speed limit sign in Oregon!

I know, for some of you—a lot of you, actually—this is no big deal. Most states raised their speed limits to 70 mph and higher long ago. But not Oregon. Oregon has been stuck at 65 mph (55 mph for trucks) for what seems like forever.

Back in 1974, when the national speed limit was set at 55 mph due to the supposed gas shortage—we still haven’t run out, by the way, and we’re driving more vehicles a lot more miles—Oregon took down all the 70 mph signs. And disposed of them, I’m sure. They should have kept them because here we are a “short” 42 years later, and the signs, or rather, new signs, are going back up. And the truck speed limit has been raised to 65 mph! That’s the first change for trucks since 1974!

You’d think that being a truck driver, and driving 700 miles a day, this would perhaps save me some time. But it doesn’t. My truck is governed at 62 mph just like it was before. Unlike old governors, which could be bumped, the computerized version actually limits the vehicle speed. The only way to make the truck go any faster is to let it roll down the hills. I do this of course, but it only works when I’m loaded. And for exactly half of my day I’m empty.

There is another reason the new posted speed doesn’t save any time. And that is, typical of a government venture, the new speed limit doesn’t apply in all of the state, only the eastern portion. The dividing line is about the half way point of my run. And of course, most of the hills are in the western part of my drive!

So, this past week, I’ve been getting passed a lot. Cars, pickups, and other trucks go zooming by. I even thought a bicycle was going to overtake me the other day! We were already known as the slow guys. Wonder what they’ll start calling us now? Oh well, I really don’t need to save time I guess. After all, what’s 13 hours out of my day? And what could I possibly do with an extra hour or two? Well, it’s just a thought but maybe have time to go see something I haven’t seen before? ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords. Amazon Profile - www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Sunday, December 20, 2015

Too Cold At Home

The trouble with winter is, well, there’s a long list of things, but number one is, it’s cold!

When I was sixteen, and still living with my parents, we lived in a small town in eastern Oregon. Winters get pretty cold in this town and this particular year was no exception. Well, I take that back, this was an exceptionally cold year.

It was the week after Christmas and I had gone to work overnight, cleaning the floors at a local grocery store. The temperature was already well below zero when we started the job but by the time we were done, about four in the morning, the thermometer had dropped to -42 degrees. If you’ve never experienced that, or even if you have, that is cold.

Being young, it wasn’t as traumatic as it would be now, but it was still cold. Too cold. I decided that perhaps I should move. Maybe go someplace new, someplace warmer. I wasn’t really serious because I did like the town. It just happened to be cold at the time.

Well, little did I know that my dad was already thinking of moving. The following winter found us in Wisconsin. Yeah, not exactly a place known for its moderate weather temperatures and tropical climate. It was like going from the frying pan right into the fire—in an antithesis sort of way!

Everyone told me it got cold there but being that the year before I had seen -42, I wasn’t too worried. Then, winter came, specifically, the week after Christmas. I was “privileged” to experience the bone-chilling temps of Wisconsin with the thermometer bottoming out at... -42, again. A lot of good that move did!

Since then, I have moved again. Haven’t seen anything close to -42 in quite a few years. It barely gets below zero here. Except, I’m older now. And at this age, zero feels a lot like -42. It’s cold! And that is the trouble with winter. ~

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Sunday, June 22, 2014

EAT

The year was 1973. My father decided we were moving: from Missouri to Oregon. At six years old, this was quite an adventure for me. I vividly recall the whole thing: the packing, my dad rebuilding the engine on a Ford Galaxy 500 so it would make the trip, loading the U-Haul, and then the long drive. The drive, most of which I didn’t sleep, was apparently practice for when I got older and would spend the better part of my waking hours behind the wheel, in a semi.

The 2000-mile trip was fun. We saw a lot of sights along the way, played games in the car, and ate at McDonald’s—when we could find one (the Golden Arches were not so prevalent in those days). Strangely, it seemed that doing nothing, while riding in a car, produced quite an appetite. By the time we neared our destination however, I think all four of us; my dad, mom, brother, and me, were ready for the journey to be over. I remember finally taking the exit for the town that would be our new home. There was an old flour mill—a big white building badly in need of new paint, a downtown church with a towering steeple, and a big bright blue sign with yellow letters, trimmed in red, that simply said, “EAT.” That’s what caught my eye, the sign, rising high above a drive-in diner. And, as had become my habit on the trip, I was hungry.

My dad said we’d go find our house first, and then worry about eating. We did locate the house, and we did eat, but not at that restaurant. I think it was the next day that we got to enjoy the drive-in’s burgers. However, since our new town had no McDonald’s, we did frequent the drive-in, well, frequently—probably more often than my dad could afford. But you know kids, they just keep asking. The drive-in diner quickly became one of my favorite places to eat.

That’s been 41 years ago now. A lot of things have changed since way back then. A lot of the town has changed; buildings have been torn down and new ones built. Despite the changes, some things remain. For instance, every day, as I arrive home from work and exit the freeway, I see that same sign that I saw years ago. The color has faded, the drive-in is now gone, replaced by another restaurant, but the sign is still there! It’s how I know I’m home. Only problem is; you know how memories are associated with the senses? And how the mere sight of something can bring back the same feelings of long ago? Well, I know it may have something to do with the fact that by the time I make it home each day, I’ve been driving for about 14 hours but, every time I look up and see that sign, I’m instantly hungry!

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Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club http://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com

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