The WHY I Do the Things I Do? 12-5-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins

 

Jeff’s college acquaintance shared the following historical and fact-filled Facebook post that tells of the unusual link between the U.S. railroad gauge, horses, and SRBs (solid rocket boosters). The story, as well as the snappy horse picture, both help this blog segue from trains... to horses:

"The US standard railroad gauge (the distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That is an exceedingly odd number.
Why was that gauge used? Because that’s the way they built them in England, and English ex-patriates built the US Railroads.
Why did the English build them like that? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that’s the gauge they used.
Why did “they” use that gauge then? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.
Okay! Why did the wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing? Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that’s the spacing of the wheel ruts.
So who built those old rutted roads? Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (and England) for their legions. The roads have been used ever since.
And the ruts in the roads? Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing.
 
The United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an Imperial Roman war chariot. And bureaucracies live forever.
So the next time you are handed a spec and told we have always done it that way and wonder what horse’s behind came up with that, you may be exactly right, because the Imperial Roman war chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two war horses.

Now the twist to the story… When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site.

The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The SRBs had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as two horses’ behinds.

So, a major Space Shuttle design feature of what is arguably the world’s most advanced transportation system was determined over 2ooo years ago by the width of a horse’s hind end.  And you thought being a horse’s hind end wasn’t important."

Horses certainly have affected decisions, in ways we never would have imagined: Horse width determined war chariot ruts, which determined tramway width, and determined train track width, and tunnel width, and ultimately, solid rocket booster size. 

To easily sum up today's message, I decided to use a twist on the 1960s Temptations song:  ¯The Way You Do the Things You Do¯ to ask this trenchant question: The WHY I do the things I do?... with hopes that this informative post flawlessly segues to the idea of horses as well as the complicated topic of free-will and personal freedom.

Cowboy Jeff IS the little guy on the horse.

Another thing for which I am grateful: Horses, of course, of course! (For the Baby Boomers: ¯of course¯ I remember the talking horse...Mr. Ed)

On Sunday, December 9th my post will pop some bubbles... Deo Volente.

I MESSED UP! 12-2-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins
 

Festive holiday times are beginning! I love celebrations, and along that vein, I actually love watching a particular talk show that will remain nameless. Whenever possible, at show time, I stop whatever I am doing to watch just the first 5 to 10 minutes. Why do I so like just beginning of the show? Because the atmosphere is fun and lively! There are funny jokes, with light-hearted segments like "What's Wrong With This Sign's Sign," and the monologue ends with fun music and dancing. The main challenges are to guard myself from the comedian's irony as well as subtle, questionable influences. Otherwise, it satisfies my party fix and is entertaining.

A recent news story shares a country star's need for fun fixes. Here are just a few facts of this unwise star's embarrassing fun, tainting his reputation, captured by the media:

"Country star Jason Aldean has apologized to fans after pictures of him acting 'inappropriately' popped up last week. Aldean tweeted Sunday that he wanted to talk to fans directly instead of letting gossip web sites tell the story. The tweet comes after photos appeared showing Aldean and former American Idol contestant Brittany Kerr together at a bar Wednesday in Los Angeles. In one photo, they appear to kiss. Aldean says, The truth is I screwed up, ...had too much to drink and acted inappropriately... Ultimately I ended up embarrassing myself and my family. Aldean is married with two children..."

It certainly seems like Aldean had one too many drinks! He is embarrassed by his silly actions. His reputation is scarred and his family is embarrassed... because of ...well, you decide... Reputation is everything... and re-reading my entries about childhood makes me feel agonized, because... I SHARED SECRETS!  I MESSED UP!  I WANT TO STOP WRITING!!!

I WANT my Dad's reputation to be pristine and honorable. I loved his intelligent, good, jovial, and sensitive spirit... he worked so hard. Yet, I hated his denying "Evil Twin" tendencies. I believe Dad is with me (in spirit) as I write, and WE absolutely feel compelled to finish this arduous blogging commitment, together. 

Come to think of it, I HAVE changed my mind. I WILL, by George, STOP writing...about chugging trains anyway. I have shared stories about train delays, train rides, train noise.... trains, trains, trains! Enough of them. I am grinding these noisy, clunky gears to a halt... to change directions!

Another thing for which I am grateful: Pictures of Mom. I love, love, love this enchanting shot, displaying one of her fun teenage activities.

My next post will be Wednesday, December 5th. I will gladly share a safe Facebook post that begins the segue, from trains to another form of transportation... Deo Volente.

The Train, The Train 11-28-2012

This is a somehwhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins


I have ingested, digested, and re-gested the article I briefly mentioned in November’s "Free-Fall" post. The author compares people and their FREE wills to trains on tracks. If a moving train stays on its track, all is well; but if it strays from its track, it creates calamity and disaster.

 

Even though, for writing purposes, I mercilessly diss trains, I actually have a fondness for riding in them. For our 34th anniversary, my husband and I rode the train together from Chicago to STL. The quaint charm of the train and its amenities made that 5-hour trek comfortable and quite productive as we were each able to use our laptop computers. We flew past many nostalgic sites, including Illinois State University, where eons ago, following a beginning-of-the-schoolyear Chi Alpha activity, I met Jeff. We had our first date, and for 8 months we were close to inseparable until summer break. We married 11 months after our first date.

It seems appropriate to take this anniversary train trip with him, past our old stomping grounds, and remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones. As an adult child of an alcoholic I could have married an alcoholic or become one. 

 

The train quickly moves along, but an unplanned delay is imminent. Our stomachs begin to gurgle. Carry-on Rice Krispie treats and nuts prolong our need for solid food, but eventually I chuckle: Jeff, my stomach is speaking to me; let’s stretch our legs and check out the prices in the food car.

We stumble through one car and then another, arriving to the food car’s line for questionable, not-so-gourmet, $7.00, micro-waved "scary burgers." To stall our hunger, we reluctantly split one.

Our train suddenly applies its breaks, screeching slowly to a strained halt. Naturally, I'm a little jolted and ask: Jeff, what do you think is wrong? 

My concerns are relieved as the conductor announces we must move out of the way for a northbound, oncoming train. I have no fear as our monstrous train awkwardly and noisily moves in reverse, and then maneuvers forward, safely onto a side track. We wait for the other train to zip past, and then our train noisily and clunkily re-maneuvers back to the main track to continue southbound to STL, after a 30-minute delay.

During my confusing childhood I wish a conductor could have given me play-by-plays during screeching times and hours-long, night-time disruptions. I needed reasons for the chaos, and as an adult I searched for answers. I have come full-circle and see that it was after my parents' ebb-and-flow, fairy-tale-like, first 14 years of marriage; immediately after birthing child number 6, as Dad was nearing his vulnerable 40s...the volcano erupted. That is when our uninvited "guest" arrived (I was just 6 and my younger sibs were aged 5, 2, and newborn) and stayed for 11 unending years. It seemed like a lifetime.

Swinging back to the train ride, we appreciate our freedom to roam, but we are glad the ride is only temporary. The end-of-the-line, St. Louis stop is our anticipated destination as we eagerly change transportation modes… to our maneuverable Toyota Corolla. We enthusiastically stop for a reasonable Wendy's burger and then we, full-speed ahead, gallop home.

I do like riding in trains, every so often, but comparing spirited-me to an actual train on a track, a train track, or even being a passenger on a train, doesn’t feel right. I bristle at the idea of being inflexible and trapped, and I prefer to not be likened to a cold, hard, inanimate object. A train doesn’t live, breathe, or think. It has absolutely no FREE-will and is clueless. It can only run on preset tracks, has no soul, and runs on stinky diesel fuel. Nope, I will embrace my spirited-self.

The author’s idea of a track does, however, pique my interest. I embrace purpose, and mission, and competition…so I’m warming into comparing my free-will to a living, breathing, spirited animal…an animal that runs on a track…

Another thing for which I am grateful: Holiday lights.

I love the Christmas season, and it feels great to have November's writings posted. We are half-way around the track heading to the Sunday December 30th finish line! December 2nd's post bubbles with a story... Deo Volente.

SWAMP Thang! 11-21-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins



Well, Thanksgiving is over, and I hope that all of you had a smooth holiday. I will vulnerably admit that I had a couple of pre-Thanksgiving, energetic melt-downs. I was anything but "Singing in the Rain." Fortunately, we had success with our experimental, cooked-in-the-car, crockpot turkey. Woot, woot!

As we traveled down the road cooking the turkey, we listened to an intriguing interview with philosophizing Chris Rock who theorizes that back in the 1950s-60s men saw their wives as weaker...so when their wives had meltdowns, it didn't surprise them, because, after all, women were the weaker sex. Today, men see women as equals and are less understanding of their wive's meltdowns. Hmmm...a little "rock" for thought anyway.

I am incredibly thankful for an understanding husband; I could care less whether I'm an equal, as long as I can have my meltdowns every so often. On the other hand, FREE-WILL is important because it allows me to become who I am meant to be. Free-will suggests that (with input from my husband) I can basically make my own decisions about the paths I strive to take. At the moment, I am on a sabbatical, mainly to focus on writing and blogging, with the added benefit of more time for family and revitalization.



Thomas the Train...passes by our chuch

I have blogged a lot about silly trains, and how they are in no way free; they must follow preset tracks as well as disturb others. A few weeks ago we were double-whammied by a train as we drove to church. For the first time ever, we were stopped by a Sunday 9:35 a.m. Thomas the Train. We hoped it would be a short delay, but the minutes kept ticking. At least the graffiti on the long, cold train was entertaining.

As we patiently wait, we see a crown drawn on one particular train car, and the word SWAMP on another. SWAMP clearly stands out because of its fat, curvy letters, plus an artistically-drawn foot. It is more distinctive than any of the other messages. Finally, after endless minutes, we are FREE to drive to church.

We continue our trek to church, now a few minutes later than expected, and I point to our left: Hey, there’s TtT. He has taken a curve and is moving along horizontally with us.

Jeff replies in disbelief, You don’t think...no way...surely TtT isn't…

At the crest of the street we have a birds-eye view of good ol' Thomas. He had circled around to the tracks by the church, double-whammy-delaying us...a record 10 minutes! Trains really do have a way of rudely zinging our schedules!!!
 

 

Like I have said before, trains have no free-will; yet, conversely, they are boss and cannot be bullied. The cold, metallic, humongous entities follow rigid, preset tracks, and they SWAMP Thang-like suck us into their timetable.

 

Rather than comparing FREE will to a train following a track (briefly mentioned in November's "FREE-Falling" post), I am feeling even more validated to compare my FREE will...to a…ur, um...more to come.

 

An amazing blessing for which I am grateful: #7 My talented, resourceful children.

 

My next post will be Wednesday, November 28th...I've seen quite a few Christmas trees up already. Just sayin'...  Deo Volente!

Singing in the Rain! 11-21-2012



This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins



Happy Thanksgiving! It is a delicious time of year, and we've already started eating mega-spreads of food. My childhood Thanksgivings were always food-filled, with oyster dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and once-a-year pumpkin pie...I would end up like the turkey...stuffed and taking a long nap! My enchanting Mom strived to make Thanksgivings family-filled. This year, we will gather as a small family unit, making a memory with our grown son at his home.

As I shared in October's "Boo-logging Begins" I do write a lot, but I'm not a writer. I have journals dating back 15 years stored in my bedroom. Sometimes I'm tempted to pitch them, because the babble, babble and yada, yada seem insignificant. In one especially intense entry I felt disillusioned by the circumstances of life; I felt betrayed by my journals and was close to burning all of those dusty books. Yet, something stopped me; I couldn't discard them because it would feel like I was cutting out my heart. I guess my husband or children will have to enjoy a blazing bonfire one day in my memory.

A few sentimental entries are in my old and cherished journals, and today I have an inclination to share one of them, from a few years ago. My husband and I were unexpectedly caught, half-way through one of our walks, in a sudden downpour. Bolts of lightning traveled horizontally above us, and some of them were too close for comfort. Jeff, we have to get to the boat house. I'm scared and don't feel safe walking with lightning so close!!

We sprint to the boat house and stay there just briefly, until the lightning lessens. We are cold, and frustrated, not looking forward to our 30-minute walk back to the car. It is a prime opportunity to begin blaming each other for our predicament: It's your fault we're caught in this thunderstorm. I told you it was going to rain! Good thing I brought an umbrella, just in case.

Rather than finding blame (why is it that petulance feels so...satisfying) we "bridle" our tongues to intentionally turn lemons into lemonade. It is apparent the downpour isn't going to be over soon, so we make the best of it. It is scary at first (because of sporadic lightning) and our teeth are chattering, but crazy Jeff says, Let's go for it, and I hesitantly cooperate.

We continue our walk and it magically morphs into a positive, Singing-in-the-Rain experience. For 30 minutes we walk arm-in-arm holding each other as close as possible under our small umbrella’s protection, with our steps mostly in sync, attempting to keep each other warm and relatively dry. We enjoy our FREE entertainment, listening to the pelts of rain hitting our shared umbrella. Who cares if our feet are soaked... it's only water!! Just make sure the camera stays dry. One of us who is a little obssessive just happened to bring a baggie to protect the camera. Just sayin'...

Why the wingo couldn't I (in my childhood)...have reacted differently, reaching out to my five siblings, using humor or something to lighten the atmosphere of our alcoholic home and turn lemons into lemonade??? Instead, I lived in my autrovert bubble. An aspiring writer's blog is at: elainesperfectstorm.blogspot.com   

Jeff and I were on a mission, walking together to safely reach our dry destination. Dare-devil Jeff faced the electrifying elements, and at opportune times I couldn't help but, Gene Kelly-like, skip and sing in the rain! We created a treasured journal entry...and now it is galloping through the blogosphere.  *A video clip from"Singing in the Rain is just a click away*

Another thing for which I am thankful: #8  Free SURPRISES at our nearby walking trail.

My "SWAMP Thang" post will be Sunday, November 25th (just one month before Christmas).... Deo Volente!

Talking TURKEY! 11-18-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins

Talking TURKEY!

In my last post, “Blowing Off Steam,” I refer to needing to blow off steam from time to time. The same steamy weekend we experienced the power plant uproar, we observed, with many others, a steaming road rage incident. It occurred at a busy Ozarks signal light. Scenes like that don’t occur on our side of town!

We were horrified as an irate 40-year-old stood nosehair-to-nosehair with a defenseless elderly man. The yelling lunatic had stopped his truck, in the right-turn lane of traffic, delaying other drivers. He was acting like a Clint Eastwood character, strong-arming the helpless man. As we drove past, he was using his body to push the driver’s door into his surrendering victim, grabbing the elderly man’s arms forcing them upwards. He definitely wasn’t horsing around.

I became a side-seat driver screaming orders to Jeff: Stop, Jeff! I’m afraid for that helpless man! There's gonna be a shooting if someone doesn't stop that crazy loco!!!

Clear-thinking, always-composed Jeff replied: Diane, there are too many cars for me to stop quickly. Just give me a second. I wonder if the one man is drunk.

Rather than stopping in the middle of the street, we wisely pulled into the Price Cutter parking lot, ready to phone the cavalry; but, fortunately, within just a few more scary moments the lunatic backed off. That 40-year-old must have felt powerful in his brave exchange.

My reaction that day reminds me of fear-filled times, of my inebriated, 6-foot Father angrily interacting with my helpless, 5’2” Mom. Maybe I internally over-reacted to “Road rage” Dad. He was unpredictable when he was slurring and warring with Mom. An important note, I NEVER ever felt that Dad would harm me. Much of my childhood was spent observing frustrated Dad's non-verbal cues, honing into his emotional state. Head-strong Mom was physically helpless, but like a train, she had a one-track mind. We never were able to logically talk about it. Ever. I received little hints from Mom like: We better not buy this because Dad might...

This week a devastating tragedy occurred in Midland Texas. A train rammed full-speed into a parade float. The parade was honoring our military service people. When the track's guardrails began lowering and the train's horn blared, the veterans' natural instincts kicked in, responding to save others, but there was too little warning. Sadly, the train ended up killing four of our brave military men. They survived war, but not the barrelling locomotive.

I survived my parent's war, but my 20's could have been a train-wreck. In November's "Hic, Hiccup" post I explained that alcohol's stupor felt very comfortable, but unbearable migraines actually spared me. For too many years I felt clumsy, in a sober, autrovert fog. If not for my sensitivity to alcohol, I would have learned to rely on it rather than my...Trainer... He is helping to develop my natural stride and teaching me my "voice."

Returning to our Ozarks road-rager, he certainly would not try to bully a train, ramming into it on purpose. Nnnnneigh to that thought. As a wise coward he knows he would be talking TURKEY!  Midland, Texas shows us that one-track trains are powerfully destructive. I still prefer to compare my free-will to a...

Another thing for which I am grateful: #7  Thanksgiving, which gives me many reasons to...sing!!

My next post will be the food prep Wednesday before Thanksgiving; it will, indeed, be a very busy day! Deo Volente.

Blowing Off Steam!! 11-14-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins

 

The great and powerful OZ!!

This is Veteran's Week, and I am grateful to the many, many brave people who have entered military service and positively affected my FREEDOM. I conveyed on Facebook thanks to family members for their heroic service, including Ron and Ben for their current, continuing service, and thanks to my Veteran Father Craig, and Father-in-law Marvin and his brother Jim. They allow me to continue tip-toeing into the topic of personal freedom, sharing safe-for-me, personal, Oz-arks tales.

My husband jogs at our nearby lake and never knows what he will encounter at the early-morning timeframe when he's on the wooded trail. Many times he has crossed paths with one particularly rugged exerciser who is a bit startling because he appears out of nowhere, running down a wooded hill or turning a quick corner, but he's quite entertaining. Jeff returns home chuckling because this guy is randomly and vigorously grunting as he carries or drags large, crazy things. One day he was "boulder-guy;" another day he was "tire man." Jeff wonders when he'll see the guy next, where, and lugging what outrageous inanimate object.

On a recent early-morning run Jeff startled zillions of migrating geese on the lake, creating synchronized whooshing, flapping, and cackling sounds, like an enormous thundercloud. The previous night we could actually hear those unison cackles from our home at bedtime. We never know what we will encounter next at the lake. Maybe that's why we like it so much.

On one booming Sunday afternoon we experienced anything but entertainment at the lake. A dynamic first occurred when, just minutes before we left our house for a walk, the roar of ten jet engines preparing for take-off began, and it continued.

I quickly shot many illogical questions to know-it-all Jeff: What is that LOUD noise? Are we being attacked? How can we find out where that deafening noise is coming from? Do you think it's safe to take a drive?

We bravely venture out in our car, and I'm surprised we don't see all of our neighbors in their front yards; there are a few curious ones visibly scratching their heads. We do encounter many inquisitive Oz-arks drivers slowly passing a nearby, ominous, thundering structure. Years ago I recall solo, night-time car rides past this structure that created helpless, "Oz"-like feelings in me. This day, many of the passers-by are thinking: Surely that power plant really is Oz, and it is about to blow!

We ended up walking anyway, thinking that any minute the astronomical, reverberating noise would stop. We couldn't help but walk at record, Olympic pace because of the roar's agitation. I couldn’t hear my MP3 music, but earnestly pressed the buds to my ears to somewhat protect my eardrums. It helped a little. The "booming" roar continued even after our 35-minute walk.

How could a power plant person randomly decide to overwhelmingly attack the noise space of hundreds of people? For an hour? The entire walk that bossy power plant seemed to FREELY use vociferous noise pollution as its "voice" to make a point:

I am the great and powerful Oz…and there is nothing you can do about it!!!!

The power plant really was a giant tea kettle ready to explode. We later learned that it was blowing off steam because of excess pressure. At times, I, too, have excess pressure and need to blow off steam!

On a light-hearted noted, a true story about President Reagan says he could be quite witty, and was visiting the Queen of England riding horses together when one of the horses blew off steam, releasing some LOUD flatulence.

After a few awkward moments the Queen embarrassingly said, I apologize! There are some things even royalty cannot control.

The quick-witted President chuckled, Why...thank you! If not for your apology, I would have thought the horse did it.

Another thing for which I am grateful: #6  Walks at our normally peaceful lake with my husband...feeling like royalty.

On Sunday, November 18th, I will share another blowing-off-steam, Ozarks incident…still chugging towards my topic of personal freedom. Deo Volente! 

I know there are a few of you out there reading... thank you from the top, middle, and bottom of my heart for your participation in my adventure.