Thirteen years and dead


Don’t worry — it’s not a person!

When we bought our last house, 13 years ago, we had masonry walls between my office and my studio.  I could not get a wifi signal into the studio to save my life.  I solved my dilemna by buying two Apple Time Machines and moving my WiFi signal over to the studio in short steps.apple-timemachine  Those two Time Machines were essentially servers and lasted all this time.  No matter what you say about Apple products — they do work, and work well, and work well for a long time.

And now one suddenly quit altogether; and the other is wonky — I mean really wonky.  So, I’ll be replacing two drives with one, and backing up stuff for a few days until I get back to my safe-and-secure comfortzone!

dq-conesAmong the things flitting through my brain on Friday were how many Dairy Queen stores there are in Texas.  We have 4 within 15 miles and if I extend the circle a little the number doubles because that count doesn’t include San Benito or Harlingen.  In my truck driving days I would stop every day for an ice cream; I enjoy my dairy products.

I’m becoming a little aware of changes in people.  A couple of the sites where we knew the residents from two years ago are no longer being occupied by the same folks.  We need to begin checking on the well-being of some of the folks who won a place in our hearts last time; we’re hoping that the reasons they aren’t here are minor — but as you age it’s obvious that people pass on, or become infirmed, or simply give up heading south for the winter.

The new owners brought in 4 new park model RV’s on spec.  I see that half of them are sold now and there’s a regular trickle of lookers stopping for a tour of the remaining two.  A couple used units are available — none of which are appealing to us at all. — which sentence I wrote a few days ago… pausing at this point in the writing of this post.

Well, add a few days and it turns out we’ve been talking between ourselves and the topic of finding a Southern seasonal home base has been raised by “She who must be obeyed.”  So, we’re going to have a look at one of the units for sale here, and another for sale in a park 40 miles away and see how we feel then.  I’m thinking that we’re just feeling our way around a big decision and we might either do nothing for months or make a move in 24 hours.  You just can’t tell about us.  That’s Life Unscripted……

Thanks for stopping and I’ll be here again tomorrow to chat.

 

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6 Comments

  1. “How many Dairy Queens in Texas” made me laugh hard. The center of my youth in Penticton was Dairy Queen. It stood smack dab at mid point of Main St. Everything began at DQ, official muster station of small town British Columbia.:)

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    1. They call it the State Flag of Texas — the Dairy Queen sign!

      It’s not great ice cream. It’s not ice cream at all…. it’s iced milk…. but it’s sweet and cold and I still love it. Please don’t someone tell me all the bad ingredients in it (pretty please with sugar on top).

      Milwaukee actually had very FEW DQ’s. But we had KOPPS and GILLES and LEON’s “FROZEN CUSTARD” those were institutions — still are actually.

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      1. Oh Dairy Queen. Now you have me pining for my youth.Funny because I’m a freak who doesn’t care much for sweet treats.Trying to recall my last visit to DQ – it has to be this past August in Hope B.C. My husband ordered a Blizzard and I opted for an order of fries. Back to small town memories – DQ was social center ( 2 blocks from the only high school, plus a huge parking lot) Everyone wanted a summer job there except me. At 14 my first job was a car-hop at A&W (roller skates and all) Sigh. Thanks for sparking recollections of a simpler time .:)

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      2. We aim to please ! 🙂

        I can resist a lot of sweets but this dairy state boy loves his ice cream! We almost never make desserts at home. Maybe 2-3 times a year I might purchase a pie at the grocery because our oven in the coach is a pain — but on those rare instances we’ll have pie or cake — but the rest of the time I’d rather have a piece of fruit….. unless there’s ice cream….

        I had such a weird youth I don’t even know where the social center of our neighborhood might have been. When I was in 4th grade to high school we were in what was then called a “Changing Neighborhood” where the banks “red-lined” mortgages because they didn’t think the neighborhood was a good credit risk. None of which kept my dad from getting a private mortgage to buy his first apartment building — an 8 family — that we lived in. I’ll never to this day know why it was considered a changing neighborhood — the group the bank was worried about (I don’t need to say more) were a couple miles from our neighborhood and it was all folks like us living where we were. As a kid that gave me my first unhappy memory about race relations. My dad was really upset with the bank. I still had the same friends I would have had otherwise. But at what ever age you go to 5th grade I was already aware of the fact that not all adults liked all other adults and I think I began mourning in 5th grade and never stopped. It’s sad.

        I guess for me, the social center was Kehr’s Candy Kitchen which was on the walk from Jr. High & High School. It was a soda shop and a candy store with a counter and a soda jerk and all that good stuff. But I don’t remember people actually milling around and socializing…. Dunno…. there must have been one. You can tell I wasn’t a ‘social animal’ even then, can’t you. 🙂

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      3. Penticton is a resort town, DQ only mattered in summer when tourists doubled the population. I wrote this post ages ago -https://notestoponder.wordpress.com/2013/06/25/festival/
        As for first impressions on race and status – my family never had money. Dad worked the orchard for his father. My grandparents lived in a beautiful spacious home at the top of the hill, we lived at the bottom in a cramped bungalow.We got powdered milk and wild game. Every Sunday night we walked up the hill for dinner of prime rib or roast lamb. Sometimes my sister and I would sneak into the basement pantry just to marvel at shelves laden with astounding rows of neatly stacked provisions.”How can anyone have this much food?” “Who’s going to eat all this?” Don’t get me wrong, we never went hungry but it was abundantly clear who called the shots.Below us were the farm workers. A Portuguese family who lived year round in a tiny house of sorts, and seasonal workers lodged in pickers cabins. Cabin is a stretch, more like bunkhouses – no running water and an outhouse at back.I have no idea where they kept food or cooked meals, I know my grandmother made sandwiches for lunch every day, packed them in a basket and walked into the orchard at 12 on the dot to find them. We never dared peek inside those cabins.Everyone knew there place – blows my mind to ponder it now. 🙂

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      4. For some reason WP put this comment in the spam file — not sure why….

        Interesting the ‘classed’ society… When I think back about conditions that many lived in their entire lives and then listen to such nonsense as some of the house hunting programs on cable — where the individuals just have to have … everything in the world … or else they aren’t happy. What has the world come to that we think we can be so arbitrary and demanding.

        I laughed at your sandwich story. My dad hated cold meals. But he worked for Wisconsin Electric Power as a boiler operator so he was always close to an oversized “hot plate” … Mom would fix him leftovers from the night before and wrap it in aluminium or in glass canning jars / emptied out store bought jars — and dad would “throw his lunch on the floor” — the hot deck of a many million dollar boiler — and 15 or 20 minutes later he’d go get his Hot meal … Made a good story for the telling and a good meal too!

        I inherited his dislike for cold meals. I usually don’t care what it is — even a bowl of soup — but I insist on hot food whenever possible.

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