:: My Reality ::

:: Friday, August 29, 2003 ::

Summer's End

Friday! Labor Day Weekend. Funny I always think of NYC and partys at the Hamptons when I think about Labor Day. Or Cape Cod with Oysters and Lobster over hot coals in aluminum foil wrapped in a wet blanket. The end of Summer, cool breezes off the ocean at sunset, sunburned shoulders and faces wearing cotten sweaters to keep off the chill. But for many here in the South, it's just another hot day off, an excuse for grilling burgers and hot dogs. Extended famiies meeting up at someones home, good natured ribbing, kids running around dripping wet from the pool. The end of Summer is another 30 or so days hence, regardless of what the calendar says.

Yet to some, Labor Day does signify a benchmark. We stand at the top of a hill after a long, hot, sweaty climb. We're exhausted, bent over, hands on our knees...we look at each other and smile. We made it. Another summer in the South is behind us. And we're still alive, still together, still friends. Even though the temps will top 90 for a couple of more weeks, the sun angle drops a degree or so each day now. A glorious Autumn chapter awaits us, hiding behind the haze. It's a slow walk downhill from here on out. We take each other's hand and head down the trail.

:: Tom 3:25 PM [+] ::
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Women, Guitars, and looking at Mars

If you haven't visited Gina's Blog you are missing out on a real treat! Her posts are both entertaining and informative, always with an edge. Another of my favorites is Allison who provided this web hilarity of Biblical proportions. You can get caught up in this site for hours!

Today I played what will be my next guitar (when I get the money). It's a Taylor 415, similar to the one I let slip through my fingers in April of this year. I played a 1972 Galagher, a 1978 D-28, both vintage guitars, and then set down with the brand new Taylor. No comparison. Taylors are easily the best sounding guitars made today if not ever!

I've been a bit of an amatuer astronomer since I saved my allowance and bought a little refractor from a camera store, 10X magnification. I was 12 yrs old. My father gave me a 3" reflector from Sears for Christmas when I was 14. I jettisoned the flimsy tripod mounting and built my own equitorial mount out of 3/4" galvanized pipe fittings. In 1960 my highschool bought a fine 3" refractor (about 420X). My friend James DuBose and I would watch the sunset in the view finder, looking for the Green Flash. In 1963 I was allowed out of classes to watch and sketch a Transit of Mercury across the face of the Sun.
I bought my first nice scope, a 2.4" Refractor from Unitron for $280.00 and carried it to the beach for spectacular views of the Milky Way in Saggitarius. By that time I was trying to use the scope as a lure for girls but they were only interested in cars and money. As soon as I excitedly set it up for some cute miss to view Saturn, she would say something like "Is that all?" or "It sure is small" or even "I don't see anything." I guess if the scope was my phallic symbol, then I needed a much larger instrument!
It's just that everytime I gazed upon some planatary or galactic structure, alone in the freezing winter night, all the crap that had been clouding my mind would fall away and I knew that I stood in the presence of God. In that instant I knew that an intellegence had reached out and touched me and I touched it. That's how I felt Sunday night as I jumped on the "Look at Mars" bandwagon and hauled my 2.4" Meade (a gift from my Brother-in-law) out on to the drive way. Sure enough, there it was, prominate in the Southeast sky, blazing in orange glory. A 25mm eyepiece easily showed a shimmering disk. This was different than the last time I had viewed it, 1976. Then it had been a back-ally 2nd magnitude steady point of light, difficult to locate in the scope and showing little detail. This time the visit was truely worth the hype. If you have a chance to visit a local observatory (many have special viewing this week) or even a stargazer's party, go ahead and make the effort...that is unless you're into cars and money.

:: Tom 7:25 PM [+] ::
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I'm adding a zonkboard but having a few problems aligning it. I want it in the space opposite "My Favorites", not below "My favorites." Can anyone give me the code to put the board on the same lines but to the right of my links? I'd much appreciate it.

Wearing: Jeans and grey longsleeve buttondown, brown Rockports that my dog has been chewing on.
Listening to: Top 40: Train, Cold Play, Jason Muranz, Matchbox 20, you know, same ole, same ole.

Need to put together a proposal for Imaging System and Electronic Document Management System to include a business plan. I Have never done this.

:: Tom 8:46 AM [+] ::
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Not blogging much lately...kind'a busy, kind'a lazy. Debby and i took a day trip to the Blue Ridge on Sunday. Had fun, we always have fun on these little jaunts. She's never been to the Great Smokey Mountains National Park, so we're going up in October, our anniversary.

When I was a boy, my father used to take the family to the Blue Ridge and on to the Smokies every summer. First we would travel up to Greenville, on up to Ceasar's Head and then to Hendersonville. We'd go east to Chimney Rock, take in all the touristy shops, selling unimaginable junk from dolls to bull whips. One year Dad bought me a bull whip. My older sister was furious! I kept cracking the whip near her, she keeping up a constant whine. Dad secretly loved it, because my sister was always picking on me for no reason and here I was getting the best of her for the first time. Mother, of course, sided with my sister. We were a family at odds.
After Chimney Rock we would head back west to the Cherokee Reservation. Here we would stare at real Indians, some in headress, most of whom were scowling back at us (for good reason). They scared me a lot. Dad tried to get me to sit on a Native American lap, buckskin and feathers, and I began to cry. The old Indian laughed.
After Cherokee, we'd head a little farther into the mountains and entered the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. We (I) always felt a great reverance upon entering the park. The two lane blacktop would wind and climb, switchbacks and hairpin turns, higher and higher. Our ears would pop. All of a sudden there would be a traffic jam and we would all get out to look at the bear(s) who were trying to beg food from one the cars. Then we would drive on, our eyes straining to see the hunched over fury black bear trundling back into the forrest.
By the time we got to Clingman's Dome (highest point in the Smokies) we would be in the clouds. A fine mist-like fog would swirl around us and the temperature would be in the 50's even in July. We would climb the fire-tower steps and be rewarded with a view of even more mist and fog. It was always this way...every trip to Clingman's Dome we ever made we were in the fog!
The rest of the trip was down hill...literally and figuartively. For some reason I liked climbing up but not going down. Maybe because we were leaving and that announced the end of the vacation. We would exit the park at Gatlinburg. It was an ugly tourist trap in 1954 and it's an even uglier tourist trap now. We would head over to Knoxville, down to Chattanooga, Atlanta, and back to Columbia, SC. This was our yearly family vacation which I keep in a special place in my heart and ever so often I take a vacation of my own.

:: Tom 1:36 PM [+] ::
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