ET...Find Home

When you mention a GPS these days most people picture a small LCD screen in their car with a voice that tells them where to turn on the way to their desired destination. Most of these have been given a name by their owners, mine is Gypsy Rosalie, with a play on GPS and a Twilight influence. We opted for the personality with a British female accent.

Our GPS does not have as much personality as my sister’s does. Over in Ireland they use their navigational aid extensively, but one time kept making detours contrary to the directions to see the sights. Finally their GPS said, “I’m afraid you are going to have to work with me a bit, dearie.”

It’s amazing how much we use the GPS just around town when we know exactly where we’re going. I think it’s a Star Trek thing in that we like our computers to talk to us as if they are really as smart as we wish. My laptop has a feminine voice as well to this end. It’s very comforting as I shut it down when it talks to me.

Many people have forgotten the original, yet more portable GPS receivers used by people out of doors, usually hunters or hikers. A small handheld GPS receiver can guide you to your favorite camping, hiking or fishing spot to within about 5 feet. There’s a new low end features unit that will help you find your way back to your car in a parking lot. For its price, though, you can rather buy the real deal. I own a Garmin Legend. The Etrex is a little cheaper for those on a more limited budget.

In addition to find places, there are a number of other things you can do with a good GPS. My brother-in-law likes a game called “Fox and Hound” played with multiple GPS units, multiple vehicles and radios. The idea is for the fox to leave first then call period coordinates as he travels. The hound then tries to catch up or anticipate where the fox will go and catch the fox. The fox must take regular stops to allow the capture.

Another entertaining thing to do is geocaching. Someone hides a container, usually. This may also be a virtual cache where you find a spot, but no physical cache. Normally, though, someone hides a container. The container can be literally any size. The smallest I’ve seen was the size of my fingernail. Larger containers are usually something like Tupperware or an ammo box. Inside the box are a log book and goodies. These goodies are usually just trinkets with no real monetary value.

This cache is hidden somewhere...anywhere. The coordinates and description are posted online. My favorite website is www.geocaching.com. You look for a cache near you, enter the coordinates into your GPS, then take off. The GPS will tell you what direction to travel and how far away it is. When you get within 5-30 feet depending on the accuracy of your GPS and the one who hid the cache, you start looking for hiding places under rocks, in pipes, in hollows of trees or magnetic containers stuck to signs or structures.

Once you locate the container you log your visit and trade a trinket from your pocket for one in the cache. Some trinkets are called travel bugs and you log where you pick it up and where you later drop it off so that people can track its progress. When you return home from your trek you go online again to www.geocaching.com and log that you found the hidden container and what items you traded.

It’s amazing to think that you can find an object hidden anywhere in the world as small as your fingernail with the aid of a GPS and a great deal of satisfaction comes from doing it. Some caches incorporate riddles or puzzles to solve the location. There is a much larger group doing this than you might think. Some people I have known like to do it at night to make it more challenging. Others locate the hidden cache using topographical maps and compasses. That requires more skill and patience than I have, plus I love gadgets.

Imagination in the hiding leads to pleasure in the finding, kind of like most everything enjoyable in life.

Happy trails,

Twist

It's for You

I spent twenty-five years talking on the phone for work. I’d call customers or they’d call me. For seven years my calling in Church dealt with calling members to either set up an appointment, get answers to questions, or relay information. Now that I’m retired, I still seem to be on the phone all the time.

Phones don’t bother me much, but I try to avoid them when possible. I’m not alone. It seems that everyone in my family is afflicted with the same syndrome. When the phone rings a barrage of “Not me’s” goes through the house. If no one is expecting a call, no one wants to answer the phone. My wife is very much averse to speaking on the phone. If we need to call one of our children the conversation goes something like this:

Wife: Call (add name of child) and ask them (fill in the topic.)
Me: Why don’t you call them?
Wife: I don’t feel like talking on the phone.
Me: Whatever.

I call (add name of child.)

Me: What are you doing?
Child: Nothing.
Me: Ok, bye.
Wife: Wait! Ask (add name of child) if they want to come over for dinner.
Me: Do you want to come over for dinner?
Child: Sure.
Me: Ok, bye.
Wife: Wait! When can they come?
Me: When can you come?
Child: Soon.
Me: Ok, bye.
Wife: So, when are they coming?
Me: Soon.
Wife: What does that mean? What time are they coming?
Me: Soon.
Wife: Did you ask them what they were going to bring?
Me: No, you didn’t say to ask them to bring anything.
Wife: Are they bringing the movie they borrowed?
Me: I don’t know. Are they supposed to do it?
Wife: I can’t believe you don’t ask all the questions.
Me: I don’t know why you don’t call them yourself.
Wife: I don’t like to talk on the phone.
Me: Right....

Ring, ring....

Not it,

Twist

On the Open Road

My wife and I have families on opposite sides of the country with us in the middle. Periodically we travel to visit one or the other spending 16 to 22 hours in the car on average depending on which direction we drive. Road conditions affect our timing, but we usually have great weather. One year we sat nearly 6 hours in traffic jams waiting for emergency crews to clear the interstate.

After nearly 30 years of marriage, we have our trips down to a routine. We get audio books to pass the time while the kids watch movies or read books. We know the gas stations we need for the best location and price. We know where most of the Taco Bells are located, though our GPS Rosalie knows where the rest are.

If there are sights we want to visit along the way, we leave early, if not, we drive all night and usually straight through. Part of my routine in packing the van is to declare over and over that everything will not fit in the van, even though it usually does. My family always tells me to tie things to the luggage rack on top of the van. I have to explain that it’s not a luggage rack. It’s a canoe/kayak rack that serves its purpose well.

There is an aspect to our trip planning and packing that always goes awry. We start planning snacks to eat along the way. It always starts small. Usually the few packs of gum, mints and sodas fit in a single grocery bag. Then we buy the rest. We get popcorn and snack mix. We buy cookies. We get some beef jerky. You can’t leave without some water for each person. We add some fruit in case we are in a healthy eating mood. The orange candy circus peanuts are yummy and the kids like eating nerds or MMs. Definitely remember the chocolate.

By the time we are ready to go we have a large picnic cooler full of snacks and a few more within an arm’s reach stashed strategically around the vehicle. We never eat it all while we travel. We often don’t need to stock up before returning home. It’s not wasted, though, because that red cooler turns into my private snack vault when I go visit family. I always have what I need to satisfy my sweet tooth while away from home. If I’m really lucky I also have enough for a personal stash when I get home.

Come to think of it, I need to go check behind the oatmeal in the cupboard for the stash of mint chocolate chip Oreos.

Twit

The Divine Within

It’s been said that it’s not the receiving of the gift at Christmas that’s important, but the giving of said gift. Giving something to someone else helps us to overcome our nature, which is to hoard or keep for ourselves. When a baby is born, be it human or animal, the survival instinct is to retain that which is important, because of this survival instinct. Babies need food. They don’t ordinarily share what they have. Puppies all want the favorite teat. They all instinctively know that once the milk is gone, it will be a while until there is more. Hunger is a powerful motivator. Self preservation drives them in the struggle. Those who don’t prevail can die.

While the human animal is more civilized, in general, than the beasts, instincts are hard to overcome. It becomes an “Aaah” and “Oooh” moment when we see a baby hand his favorite toy to a friend, offer a bite of cereal from a slobbery hand, or a lick of a very sticky lollipop to another child. Instinctively we understand that the child is overcoming the instinct for self preservation.

It is a great obstacle to overcome to donate money, the fruits of our hard labor, to benefit others, and yet we do so with gusto as we give to churches, disease cure research organizations or other charitable groups, including bell ringers and even panhandlers. All of these acts are evidence that we are gaining attributes of the Divine.

What’s more is that when we do things to help others, rather than cringing at relinquishing our funds, we feel good about doing something for our neighbors and co-runners in the human race. It is a somewhat indefinable feeling of accomplishment. The feeling must release endorphins because doing good is addictive. Whatever the reason for the exhilaration, we like it and want to do more to feel more of the same.

We may not be able to change the world, we may not even change the people who benefit from our philanthropic activities, but in giving of ourselves, our time and our means, we slowly change ourselves from our animal instincts to the divine within.

Survival of the Most Prepared

The fittest may look better, but the most prepared last longer. I've been interested in survival techniques, kits, gadgets, etc since I was a young Boy Scout. I've always tried to be prepared to stay alive by knowing what to do and how to do it. Lately I've once again been trying to compile what I think is the perfect small survival kit. I even included some of my ideas in my book, Tall Trail Tales. A couple of the items on my list are really bigger than I'd like, but I would still include them in my ideal kit. Here's my list of what I've come up with so far. If you have a favorite not on my list, let me know what it is and why you'd include it. Remember this is trying to be space conscious.

Obviously my ideal kit would be a motorhome full of stuff.

Twist

Fire

Hot Spark Flint
Fire starter chip
Glycerin
Plastic Magnifying lens
Small Bic lighter
Tinder wick
Chapstick

Tools

Compass
Duct tape
Multitool
Orange bandana
Parachute cord
Pencil / paper
Signal mirror
Small knife
Survival cards
Whistle
Wire saw



Food

Dental Floss
Flies/lures
Hooks
Line
Pan
Sinker
Snare wire

Shelter

Emergency blanket
Poncho
Tube tent

Water

Gallon ziplock bag
Mesh bag
Plastic sheet for solar still
Potassium Permanganate
Water purifier tabs
Water tubing for seeps

Light

Candle wick
Candles
LED light
Small glow stick

Farewell to Pat

Uncle Pat just passed away tonight. About 20 minutes ago. He went to the hospital a week ago to have stomach surgery. There were many problems which pointed to things getting worse instead of better. All his organs were shutting down and he was not expected to last the weekend. I understand his family was able to be with him at the end.

When I think about Uncle Pat a lot of things go through my mind. Their dogs they have had over the years. Baseball games. Family History. Cincinnati. I remember a chicken coop in Panguitch and a belt spanking afterwards for my Kelly. Butter ice cubes. The Dugout. Mustaches and sideburns. Spam.

I once had an email folder labeled “Uncle Pat” so that all his spam emails would be directed there. I usually looked at all of them. Pat sent lots of spam, but he usually sent some good stuff. It was better than getting catalogs in the mail. You know, when you don’t have any other mail you get the catalogs. His emails were spam, but they were spam with thought put in, kind of like Grandpa’s spam and eggs for breakfast.

I only remember about three emails that were regular emails. One was about the family reunion. Two were about his surgery. They were brief. He was anxious about needing/having the surgery, but guardedly optimistic. We all do that. We have a great sense of our own mortality, but cannot accept a reality in which we no longer exist in this physical world. We can think about death, but not about us not being here anymore.

I’m going to put this on my blog for everyone to see, but I’m also going to send it in an email to my family. Send it out again as spam to people you know, just for Pat.

Miss you Uncle Pat,

Twist.

Strange, But True

In the area of truth being stranger than fiction, a couple of stories always come to my mind:

As a district supervisor for a chain of clothing stores, my father travelled out of town all my life. Such a schedule requires the traveler to eat at many restaurants. On one such occasion, my father had just paid for his meal, a hamburger, fries and soft drink, and was seating himself in a booth. To his surprise, seated in an adjacent booth, was Colonel Sanders, of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame, dressed in his traditional attire. Colonel Sanders noticed my father's surprise, turned to him and remarked, “Well, we can't eat chicken all the time, can we."

Not long before my grandmother passed away, the greeting card industry entered a new era of technology where computer chips and a small battery were added to cards enabling the cards to play a variety of Christmas carols when opened. My wife and I bought several cards to send to a few relatives. One of these cards was sent to my grandmother.

In her mid-seventies, she had seen many marvelous improvements and technological advances over the years. In her town, for example, you didn't need to write a full mailing address or box number for her to get your letter. Her name, the name of the small town in which she lived and the zip code were sufficient. The post office only had about 200 boxes total, and some of those were not in use. Somehow, somewhere the card we sent my grandmother was bent slightly. The computer chip inside began to quietly play its repertoire of about eight songs.

The postmaster's wife, who doubled as attendant at their grocery store-gas station-post office, upon hearing the music, sent her husband outside to check the restrooms to see if perhaps someone was there with a radio. Dutifully, the postmaster checked both restrooms then all around the building without locating the source of the music. As the two of them listened more carefully, they could tell that the music was coming from the mail room

"It must be one of these packages." one of them remarked.

They must have been quite a site as they carefully listened to each the large packages, then continued with the letters and cards until they located a cheery little envelope performing its own recital. They decided that it would be best to make a special delivery of the mail and promptly took it to my grandmother.
"Special delivery for you, Velma." they said as my grandmother opened the door.

They explained what happened and waited as she opened the card. By carefully straightening the bent card the two of them were able to repair the card's on/off switch and make it function properly again. Anxious to share this marvel with someone else, my grandmother called one of my aunt's

"Reva," she began, "Would you like to hear my Christmas card from Twist and Helen?"

My aunt said she would and listened for her to begin reading the card over the phone. Instead she heard the miniature recital which had been performed already for my grandmother, a postmaster, his wife and unknown countless postal and airlines workers