COMMENTERRY--

I was walking down the street in Bellville the other day and saw this sign on a car's rear window.

I wanted to stop and shake the owner's hand!

Then I remembered--it was my car.

POTPOURRI--

Nature's palette was aflame, as it usually is, this time of year.  This view--gently molested by Photoshop--is a reflection in the pond's surface of my northeast woods as seen from my computer room window. 

I took the liberty of applying the editing software's "palette knife" to the image then used the "accented edges" filter to create the random shapes of bright around the various blobs of color after a slight boost in the color saturation.

Is the image completed as a piece of "art"?  Perhaps the better question is, does it even deserve to be called that?  

Some would say, "Art is in the eye of the beholder" or some such thing.  There, now it is squarely up to you to decide on its declaration.

To me, it is like working on a piece on a wood lathe.  I can fiddle with the chisel and be fascinated as the wood dissolves in a fluid change of its geometry until what is left of the original stock simply falls on the shop floor.

I hope I stopped fiddling with the chisel on this piece before it reached that condition.

(Remember you can left-click your mouse while hovering the pointer over the image and you should be treated to a larger view).  

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A motorcycle is not the handiest means of locomotion for carrying a loaf of fresh bread home from the grocery, especially when the loaf's cubic volume exceeds the storage volume remaining in the saddlebags.   Yup, that cycle's driver (me, of course) recently forgot which means of locomotion was in use on that particular shopping trip.

I guess I am lucky I didn't forget my way home.

COMMENTERRY--

File this one under rotting infrastructure:

I found myself  searching for a geocache under this bridge on Grove Road, a township road in Morrow County, Ohio recently and was startled to come face-to-face with its deteriorating condition.  Hefty steel I beams on approximate 3 foot centers seemed robust but the sub-surface decking was in significant decay as were the "x" shaped bracings seen in the upper foreground and lower center.

The decking and its overlay of asphalt are what keeps your car's tires from plunging through the surface.   The bracings give vertical stability to the steel beams which themselves are the "backbone" of the structure.

I am, by no measure, an engineer and am confident the Morrow County Engineer's office has this bridge under regular review.  In their defense, Morrow County is known to be tax poor.   Anyone can see that just by paying attention to the condition of their county and township roads.  

In an October 2012 article in Roads and Bridges it was pointed out, "...24% of Ohio’s bridges (6,381) are structurally deficient or functionally obsolete.

That's nearly 1/4 of all our state's bridges.

Infrastructure is often out of sight and consequently out of mind.  Taxpayers usually cannot see the inside of our sanitary and storm sewers and our water lines.  It's a rare driver who pays attention to the condition of the bridge structures he or she can see.

Our continuing to ignore necessary repair of our infrastructure will be done at significant peril.

*          *          *

I ordered milk with my Arby's Beef and Cheddar sandwich lunch September 23rd and the milk had a "Best By" date of November 28, 2013.

Can you imagine the nuclear-powered preservatives that milk must have contained?

As I held my nose and quenched my thirst I couldn't suppress my visions of embalming fluid.

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This one appears to have gone viral recently:

“When questioned by a Pravda reporter about his talks with Barack Obama, Vladimir Putin (Russia’s President) answered:

Negotiating with Obama is like playing chess with a pigeon.  The pigeon knocks over all the pieces, shits on the board and then struts around like it won the game.”

Truthorfiction.com has been unable to validate the source, but Fogeyisms opines it is astoundingly perceptive in spite of who the author might have been.

 

COMMENTERRY--

My Facebook account got whacked, or hacked, or whatever last month.  Some geek scumbag in a small, New Jersey town managed to imitate my account then attempted to convince some of my FB friends "I" could make them rich.

It was, of course, a ploy to get people to reveal personal information this schemer could use to cause them financial harm.

After a couple of astute inquiries from potential victims I posted a warning on FB this had happened and commended those who realized this was, indeed, a scheme with a very offensive odor.

I then went to work trying to use tools available on FB to stop such nonsense.  That effort led me to a demand by FB's system that I change my email address.  That, I refused to do.  It was their lax security that allowed this to happen.  They could fix the problem.

Naturally I was embroiled in a totally impersonal process with them and their system was offering no other solution.  That stalled my account and, as far as I know, that's where it remains today.

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When a person like me arrives at bachelor-hood unintended that event usually happens without ever having the benefit of any home-ec schooling along the way.

I also had enjoyed a lifetime of pleasure avoiding those syndicated columnists spouting blizzards of advice on managing the distaff side of a household.

Shortly after I lost my bride, the folly of not paying closer attention to her wifely toils became apparent.

Imagine how proud I was recently after I developed the marvelous idea of pinning my dark socks together before tossing them in the wash.

Now, I hardly ever arrive in public with one sock noticeably black--and the other some shade of blue.

I'm still working on the problem of making plastic wrap behave.

*          *          *

Then, there is this display of cabinetry compliments of the Menards store in Ontario, Ohio:

Doesn't the "quality" of that center section just make you tingle all over!

(Cell phone photo taken 7:08 p.m., September 30, 2013)

PHOTO POTPOURRI--

  
High on a north ridge of the Wooster Memorial (Spangler) Park Sue pauses to enjoy the late summer sun as it dapples the forest floor of this 350+ acres of plush woodland.  The park is laced with some 7 miles of challenging hiking trails and bisected by a gently flowing stream which, over geologic time, is likely a tool Mother Nature used to carve it's chiseled topography.

Today the park boasts 17 geocaches; all tucked invisibly and playing hide and seek with cachers like us and our friends the Meinzers, who after two, near day-long exhaustive visits and mile upon mile of hiking-searching, have managed to find 12 of the little treasurers.

The remaining five, all spaced at least 1/10th of a mile apart will nudge us toward a future expedition of savoring nature's visual communion in this nugget of public land.

In an earlier caching outing Sue and I came upon this tombstone which celebrates the all-too-brief life of a youngster who evidently found passion and likely noteworthy achievement on the baseball field.

I found myself wishing I could have seen him play while hoping Heaven rewards him far beyond what life had to offer.

Pro-creation, praying mantis style:  These two insects (below) found themselves smack dab in the middle of the B&O Bicycle Trail during their amorous exertions while we wandered by on yet another caching outing.

Note the wary expression of the lower creature for which I apologized profusely.

Moments later Sue and I went on our way and immediately bumped into another couple of cachers who happened to be from the Columbus area.  Nearly as quickly, and to our total amazement, they inquired if we were known in caching circles as the Skagways; which happens to be correct.

Turns out they also do some snow-birding in our Florida town; just a half-mile or so up the road, in fact, and they recognized us from our pictures in our geocaching log postings on-line.  Needless to say we are in the process of cementing our connection and looking forward to shared caching outings with them in the sunny south.

As we wandered back toward the parking area, Sue exclaimed, "What was that?"  I heard it too, a strange noise coming from the near-by brush.  It sounded like an aggressive human trying to clear his throat, or maybe a grunt through a very moist nasal passage.

While Sue turned to take a closer look I noticed a white tail deer in the same brushy area.  I was reminded it was approaching the season for their rut, and suggested to Sue this might not be either the time or place for excess curiosity.

I could picture an agitated buck deer blasting out of the bushes and encouraging our immediate departure.

COMMENTERRY--

We rolled easily over the gentle hill in the country road and right there it was; a Bald Eagle.

Eating road kill.

I was, regardless, enchanted by the very sight of our majestic National Bird.

Then felt a quiver of dread.

Could I be witnessing a hint of our country's future?

Orwellian! you gasp dismissively.  Just turn off the electric in this country for a week or so.  Imagine everything grinding to a halt.  You can hardly conceive the anarchy that would soon follow.

Are we, once a beacon of hope to the struggling masses of the world, condemning ourselves to the despair of rooting in carrion for survival?

Currently the political elite infesting our national government seems hell-bent on bombing Syria senseless.

Do we risk igniting the cauldron of world war in the Middle East while at the same time seeming to find it impossible to extract ourselves from the killing fields of Afghanistan while the majority of
world leaders and our own population seem to find the thought outrageous.

Who anointed us as the world's policeman?

We have imposed upon ourselves by our own free choice a government that already has condemned our grandchildren to suffering a debt load and the consequences thereof, that defy comprehension.

We were a beacon to the world's infirm who could find comfort in the dream of repaired health in the then finest system of care in the world, ours, now being described as a train-wreck about to happen.

What about answers on Benghazi and Fast and Furious.  And the IRS and revealed others leading the Washington herd as it gallops our Constitutional rights into smithereens.

How about the twin monsters of unchecked, illegal immigration and jihad?

This cumulative morass makes Watergate seem like a junior high school prank.
 
God bless the carrion eaters of the natural order.

It was simply a sad experience to be reminded a Bald Eagle was naturally among them.

...and a horror to visualize that metaphorical hint of what may lie ahead.

THE WORLD'S FAIR!
Bellville Style

With a roaring snarl the 163rd edition of the Bellville World's Fair came to life Sunday with the highly popular tractor pull rattling the south end of town.

Official opening of the town's annual homecoming happened early Wednesday evening with a presentation of colors by the local American Legion color guard and a moment of silence on the village green as the town remembered the jihad horror of that September 11th,  12 years ago.

Then, the comfortable sense of corn-fed Americana kicked in as children romped on the grass while seven of the valley's finest young women vied through the final stage of the fair queen contest.

The midway, stretching most of the length of Main St., was a cacophony of noise as game vendors hustled their bucks and the growing crowd sashayed this way and that sharing constant greetings--with everyone!

The south end of Main St., was anchored by straw filled tent-barns where pigs squealed, ducks quacked and rabbits suffered the indignity of the judge's probing fingers while the young FFA showmen and women shivered silently with private dreams of that much deserved blue ribbon.

There were canned veggies, baked pies, flower arrangements and a gourd nearly 6 feet long on display here and there and a presentation of art and photography by the valley's artisans in the public library.

The aroma of fair food assaulted the palate and vendors in the Merchant's Tent assaulted passing visitors with an endless assortment of give-a-ways.

Anchoring the village square was a long table featuring the products of the  locally dominant industry--agriculture--with a poignant sign declaring "...and God created a Farmer."

Fair week will end Saturday night as raucous crowds ricochet their final trip down the midway, then, overnight the magic of fair week will, simply,  disappear.

Sunday the local fire department will hose the streets clean and town's folk will turn their attention to other serious concerns of the new day--like beginning to plan for the town's World Fair number 1 6 4.