This Is Only Funny Because I Didn't Break My Neck

I have been cautiously working on a blog post that has the potential to ruffle a few feathers but in the meantime I had an accident this past weekend.  The accident was aided and abetted by an improvident decision on the part of a very close associate of mine so it might have been premeditated.  Though malice aforethought seems highly unlikely as this associate is my loving and beloved wife-who is emotionally, psychologically, and physiologically incapable of even looking at a dead mouse caught in one of the various mousetraps set about in our cabin.  And so bewitched is she with the needs of the various animals in our chalet that my cat might actually be the primary cause of this mishap.  Of course, the cat wasn't supposed to even be up at the cabin this weekend since it was my sister-in-law's turn to enjoy the pastoral setting of Woodland Valley and she is uneasy around cats ever since she was bit by one during a vet visit gone awry.  But being the delightfully easy going person that she is, she agreed to allow Grayson, the cat, to accompany us on the three and one half hour car ride up to the Catskills.  Thus, it is actually her fault that I fell in the hole.

For some atavistic reason having to do with caves and lairs, my cat is fascinated with all things dank and dark such as basements and crawl spaces.  And so it wasn't very long after we bought our cabin that Grayson became obsessed by the mysterious trap door in the floor of our furnace room.  I am convinced he could smell the musty air permeating up through the gaps at the edges of the six square foot panel in the floor.  Either that or he saw me disappear down it one day when I had to check on the water pump.  In any case, if we happened to leave the furnace room door open he would meow and paw at the trap door until we shooed him away. One day we finally relented and opened the trap door for him to curiously peer into the abyss in that cross-eyed way that cats have of staring at a new circumstance in their otherwise selfish life.  And so it became routine for him to meow his way into forcing us to open the trap door for him.  We even left the ladder in the hole for him to climb back up to the surface when he was done exploring his "cave".

Being the prudent man that I am, I was sure to leave the light on in the furnace room and the door propped open with a brightly colored broom handle laying across the entrance so no one could mistakenly walk in and abruptly fall five feet down to their catastrophic misfortune.  Even with these precautions in place, I always felt a vague sense of unease about leaving the trap door open for the cat.  At least it was only Tammy and I in the cabin and we both knew when the other had left the door open for Grayson.  Or so I assumed.

Now, the cabin being what it is, a cabin, one must maximize storage space for all of the toys that go along with living in the woods.  Snow shoes, skis (downhill and cross country), boots (hiking and skiing), various poles for stabilizing oneself while engaging in either walking or schussing downhill, footwear for stream ambling, foot wear for bicycling, and of course a different helmet for each of the aforementioned endeavors.  A furnace room happens to be the perfect location for these toys since my wife won't let me hang my hiking poles on the bear hook in the foyer (mouse click here).  Heaven forbid if a guest should find out I hike in the woods by spying my gear out in the open.  But I digress.  Needless to say, this room is well traveled by me.

On most Friday evenings when we arrive at the cabin, Tammy, myself, and the cat immediately engross ourselves in the various chores that have become our routine.  Tammy disappears outside to check her garden, I set about replugging in the various small appliances that might have started a fire while we were away, and Grayson begins his vigil at the door of the furnace room meowing and whining until we relent and open that door, and then the trap door.  On this particular Friday, as I have mentioned, we had company.  So when Tammy wanted to open the trap door for Grayson, I felt an immediate sense of unease.  "Someone", I prophetically proclaimed, "is going to fall into this hole".  But as is usually the case in feline populated households, the needs of the cat come first. So we warned our guests and we left the light on in the furnace room and the crawl space and propped the broom handle as a sort of caution tape in the doorway.  Everyone, I assured myself, is aware of the peril in traveling freely about the cabin.  Once the cat had satisfied himself that a family of racoons had not moved into his cave, which usually takes about thirty minutes, he came back up the ladder and with a sigh of relief I closed the trap door.  Thus restoring a contiguous hard surface for plummet free walking about the cabin.

That Saturday dawned sunny and a predicted  break in the heat wave gave us all a buoyant outlook for the weekend.  So over breakfast it was decided that Tammy would accompany her sister and brother-in-law on a walk down Woodland Valley Rd to enjoy the serenity and I would would go on a bicycle ride to suffer on the various steep mountain roads that ascend throughout our valley. When I returned hot, sweaty and tired two hours later I was looking forward to a relaxing lunch of a couple of beers and whatever discommodious vegetarian summer salad Tammy had found on eatlikearabbit_feelgreat.com.  But first I had to put away my bicycling shoes and change into my flip flops.  If you scored well on the reading comprehension portion of the SATs you will immediately realize where I keep my bicycling shoes.  In the furnace room. Why "someone" left the trap door open, with the light turned off, and the door only slightly ajar, with no warning broom stick laid at an angle across the doorway, I have no idea.  And why this was done while I was away from the house and not forewarned, I have no idea.  And why the damn cat had to go into the crawl space at twelve o'clock on a sunny Saturday morning I also have no idea.  I do now have an idea, however, of what it is like to fall into a mountain crevasse and live to tell the story.  At least there's that.

One of multiple contusions.

I Am Pissed Off Again! And It Feels GGGGrrrrreeeeaaaat!!!!

Another assault on liberal thinking has just been launched from, of all places, Narberth, Pennsylvania.  Again.  Regular readers of my ersatz (one of my most favorite words) column will recall my opinion piece of June 21, 2013 in which I responded to a resident of this small Pennsylvanian hamlet over her misguided views on how liberals think and what they believe.  What are the odds that I would be pissed off  twice in one week from the same small town in Pennsylvania?  To be fair, this volley was not a direct hit on progressive political thinking.  It was directed more at the cafeteria monotheists among us.  You know who you are.  You like to pick and choose among the various dogmas, doctrines, and sacraments, to best suit your current spiritual state.  Yet you still believe in the one God.  Perhaps you are just confused about all the dictums-which are mostly enforced by ersatz (see?  A great word) clerics.  But it is usually liberals (and right of center thinkers) who choose to see the world, even the divine one, in various shades of gray.

Here is the letter (it was in response to an article on the proliferation of yoga studios in Philly):

Uneasy over the lotus position

Yoga is more than a system of physical exercises. There is a spiritual component that may or may not be emphasized ("Going to the mat," June 23). Most yoga teachers are probably nice people, and yoga participants may seek to participate in a benign exercise program. Indeed, people testify to physical benefits such as greater flexibility or easing and healing of certain maladies. But I don't believe that yoga is benign. It has been practiced for thousands of years and is tied directly to Eastern religions, mainly Hindu gods.

People who open themselves to those gods or spirits, even in a church, synagogue, or YMCA setting, are inviting in and engaging with other gods. Jews, Christians, and Muslims agree that there is one God, with differences. In each of those faiths, God is divine. To practice yoga is to integrate parts of Eastern religion and mysticism into people's lives, perhaps unknowingly, or in the belief that it won't matter. But people can become confused, and their priorities may become rearranged. There may be outright distancing from God. So I'm sorry to hear that Philadelphia has the distinction of ranking third in the country for yoga.

Margie Nathanson, Narberth, PA

Here is the link to the original so you don't think I made this up:
Yoga is the devils workshop.

And in case you are wondering why I am allowing myself to get so bent out of shape over what one person, whom I am sure is very lovely,  thinks, click on this link (the lawsuit was brought by Stephen and Jennifer Sedlock):
Breathe deep the gathering gloom.


My response:
Dear Margie,
cc; Stephen and Jennifer, Encinitas CA

You know what?  I actually agree with you.  Fundamental yoga practice is inconsistent with fundamental Western religious thought.  And there is that thing about worshiping false idols.  But how do you know what is in the hearts and minds of other people?  That's where you lose me. If Christians, Jews, and Muslims can agree to disagree, why can't Hindus, and Buddhists be a part of the detente?  Or secular yogi practitioners?  Aren't we all looking for the same thing, like you said, but with differences?

Perhaps I am being intellectually rigid, but if you believe Mohammad was a false prophet and John Smith was a false prophet, then you should be just as upset over a Mormon tabernacle or an Islamic mosque being built in Philadelphia as you are about a yoga studio.  And that would be just downright bigoted. 

A Snake in the Grass

A young man was walking along in the woods one chilly spring day when he suddenly came upon a snake laying motionless in the middle of the dirt path.  He gently prodded it with his hiking staff to see if he could coax it to slither aside.  "Please, young sir", implored the snake, "I am but a cold blooded animal and I cannot gather the strength on this cool day to crawl back to my nest to guard my young.  If you would but pick me up and warm me for a few minutes I could summon the energy to wriggle home and check my brood".
The young man was taken aback by the snakes odd request.  "What kind of fool do you take me for?" he asked the snake.  "You would most assuredly bite me".
"Oh, no.  I am way to weak to even think such a thing.  I am only interested in my young.  Please, please.  I beg of you.  My children may themselves be killed by a hungry mammal if I am not there to protect them".
"I don't know", replied the man, obviously beginning to soften to the snakes pitiful circumstance.  "Do you promise not to bite me if I help you?"
"Of course, of course.  I would never bite the hand that helped me".

So, perhaps against the young man's gut sense, he knelt down and extended his hand for the snake to crawl onto his arm to be warmed.  And just as he opened his palm, the snake struck out and sank his fangs deep into the soft flesh of his hand.  "Ouch!" he cried out in pain and astonished disbelief.  " Why did you do that?  You gave me your word".
"You knew what I was when you reached out to hold me", hissed the snake as he slithered away.  "You should not have expected me to be something I am not".

I Asked For It

Careful what you ask for.  I asked to be pissed off and boy did Connie Waterman of Narberth, PA oblige.  She is a fellow letter to the Editor writer at the Philadelphia Inquirer.  Here is the link to her letter. I will paste it here as well, in case the link is ever broken.  I don't ever want to forget it.

Here is the link to the letter: Thou shalt not hate. Scroll down to "Threat to Military Readiness"


I have pasted the letter here as well:

Threat to military readiness

I do not claim that there is no sexual misconduct in the U.S. military. However, I believe Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand (D., N.Y.) and other Democrats are encouraging any misconduct claim from women in order to destroy the military accomplishments of men ("For U.S. military, an enemy within," June 13). Since the 1960s, liberals have loathed the military. Liberals destroyed the institution of marriage, Judeo-Christian values, the family unit, work ethics, personal responsibility, and respect for life in the womb. The military is next.

Connie Waterman, Narberth, PA
______________________________________________________________________
My response:
Dear Connie,

I am very disappointed in your letter.  The military isn't next.  It's already dead.  The day they allowed a gay Marine to defend his country is the day the military died.  It is already too late for our brave men in uniform.  No, the next American institution the liberals are going to destroy is healthcare.  Our sacred right to spend 80% of our precious healthcare dollars on the last five years of our life is in jeopardy.  Liberals want equal access to healthcare regardless of ability to pay. Preposterous!  How dare the social misanthropes who call themselves liberals allow someone with a preexisting heart condition to get affordable healthcare. Those chronically ill malingerers have no one to blame but themselves what with all that cigarette smoking and Big Mac eating. And what about their 25 year old kids? Why do they deserve to leech off society? No one gave me health insurance when I was a young adult. If I was careless with a knife and accidentally sliced my finger off, my mother sewed it back on. Out here on the prairie we take care of our own.

And speaking of the prairie, those damn liberals are systematically destroying the farmers way of life. They especially hate, hate, chicken farmers. What did Frank Perdue or John Tyson ever do to harm a chicken? Those men were church going saints. They do those chickens a favor by squashing them in like invertebrate sardines and providing free hormones and antibiotics. Chickens can't fly anyway. The liberals want to create an entire generation of entitled chickens by messing with the Farm Bill. Liberals care more about chickens than they do another woman's womb.  Pure evil.

Evil?   I'll tell you what's evil. The woods. Absolutely no good can come from allowing trees to proliferate any where in America. The forest is the devil's home. Where do you think Satan tempted Eve?  In the woods, that's where.  A snake in a tree.  The liberals want to preserve our forests! They just hate mankind that much. Imagine favoring trees over strip malls. There are no snakes in the Kohl's parking lot. I can assure you of that.

I agree that liberals have destroyed the sanctity of marriage.  Have you ever heard of a God fearing Christian cheating on his wife?  Only a self centered, lazy atheist would split up his family over another woman.  I can't think of a single hard working atheist that ever did a single thing for this country.  Well, except for Thomas Jefferson.  He might have been Agnostic, though.  I'm not sure.  He was so busy providing for the slaves on his farm, especially that Mrs. Sally Hemings, that I don't know how he had time to rewrite the entire Bible leaving out all the metaphysical passages.

Speaking of Thomas Jefferson, I don't think there is a single liberal that knows the first thing about our founding fathers.  Men like John Adams, George Washington, John Jay, Alexander Hamilton and James Madison.  They weren't a bunch of wealthy intellectual elitists.  No, they were just like you and me.  Hard working, God fearing, blue collar laborers.  If it wasn't for those nice slaves keeping the plantations running, those selfless men never would have had the time to meet in Philadelphia.  Now that I think about it, it was a bunch of liberal abolitionists that wanted the slaves freed in the first place.  The plantation masters were certainly conservative church going men.  Where do these liberals get their crazy ideas?

One more thing.  The American family was way better off before we had; The Family Leave Act, a minimum wage, The Americans with Disablities Act, Medicare, Social Security, The Clean Air Act,  unemployment benefits, and work place safety rules.  Liberal ideas, every last one.  How dare anyone believe we are all responsible for each other whether they worship in our church or not.

Dear Woody

The team here at "Cabin in the Catskills" is always looking to provide additional value added services to our loyal followers.  So we are pleased to announce a new interactive feature entitled "Ask Woody".  An advice and help column dedicated to the proposition that all people have equal access to get themselves lost or seriously disabled in our public wild lands.

Herewith the first column.  The names have been changed to protect the hapless:


Hi Woody

Tanya, my wife, and I plan to go camping/backpacking this week.

Do you routinely carry a tarp?  What kind?  (How big/where did you get it...) and what length of rope/how many pieces of rope do you carry?

If it is easier to talk over the phone, I will be free most of the day tomorrow.

Thanks.

Darren




Dear Darren,

1.  I do not use a tarp.  I like to sleep in a full tent with four walls and a rain fly.  That way I feel a little more protected from the axe murderers roaming about in the woods. The idea that they will have to first hack their way through two layers of nylon makes me feel that I will have at least a few more seconds to grab the 12" Bowie knife-that I definitely do carry no matter the weight-to defend myself.

View of axe murderer through tent door. 

2.  I do routinely carry fifty feet of standard parachute cord, preferably camo green.  This is available in every outdoor store across America.  It is used primarily to fabricate a trip wire perimeter around your tent to further delay said axe wielding psychopath.  But if you plan on climbing a few cliffs, then pack 60 meters of 10mm dynamic climbing rope for sure.

Regards,

Woody

P.S.  Unfortunately due to the high volume of letters we are not able to reply personally by telephone. 

The More Things Change......

I am 53 years old and riding my carbon fiber bicycle with racing geometry and a stiff frame is like going a couple of loops on the Cyclone.  The adrenaline rush is great but the numb hands, neck, and shoulders?  Not so much.  So, I just bought a new touring/cyclocross/city bike with a relaxed frame geometry for a more comfortable ride.  I feel like a kid on this bike and I have already begun to dork it out just like the old days:  contrasting red reflective tape (because it is all black), rear rat trap carrier (ok, so it's not an original Pletscher but I still call my sneakers, tennis shoes), a front light (no, it does not have a generator that is activated by a gear rubbing on the front wheel) and a rear tail light for extra safety. It even came with a bell. Here are a few pictures:

Headlight, bell, odometer, reflective tape.

Rat trap, bungee cord, tail light, saddlebag, reflective tape.

Here is a photo Tammy took of me with my new bicycle:

Black Beauty II (The bike, not me).

After Tammy said, "It looks like your old bike," I found this picture, taken exactly 35 years ago in June of 1978 with the bicycle I built from scratch in 1977:

The Original Black Beauty.  Complete with reflector tape and rat trap.

You can't make this stuff up.  The only thing that has changed in all this time?  The size of my bank account and bicycle technology. Which brings me to the point of this blog.  People don't change.  Only resources and technology change.  Who do you think is buying all those Chargers, Challengers, Corvettes, and Camaros?  Sixty-five year old men trying to relive their youth that's who.  When is the last time you saw someone under the age of forty riding a Harley?  The biker bar full of Hell's Angels drinking shots of Old Grand Dad has been replaced by a bar full of old granddads drinking Blue Angels.  (That doesn't really prove my point but it seems like a great line).

Sure, some forty year old will wake up one day and decide to do a thru hike of the Appalachian Trail even though they never backpacked or even camped before.  But I'll bet you a hundred dollars that they are the type of person who was always intense in whatever activity they were engaged.  They probably spent a year at an ashram in India staring at their belly button.  I hope they never find whatever it is they are looking for, by the way, because for them, the pursuit is the product.

Lucky for me, I have always been fond of bicycles, backpacks, and bonhomie.  OK.  So one thing has changed.

Somebody, Please, Piss Me Off.

Yo, very sorry.  I haven't been inspired by much lately.  That either means I am uncharacteristically content or pathologically apathetic but here is something; I just had my third letter to the editor published by the Philadelphia Inquirer.  I guess I got pissed off enough to come out of my writer's block to fire off a letter.  I am pretty psyched they accepted it.  Here is the link to the article I chided:  Democracy's Challenge by EJ Dionne.

And here is the link to my letter; Heat Can Shed Light in DC.  Scroll down to the letter with that title.  The Inquirer came up with the title, not me.

On a different note, it was suggested that I blog about a recent medical procedure/test I underwent this past Monday.  Unfortunately for me it went very smoothly so I can't come up with an angle.  I hate when that happens.  Perhaps next time, the gastroenterologist will accidentally leave a gauze pad up there and then I'll have something to bitch about that will amuse you.  If everything in the world went smoothly there would be no great writing.