My Feet are Back on the Kibbutz

WHEEEEE my new IDF boots arrived. The first pair I bought were a little loose. My feet sort of defy those measurement machines they use in shoe stores; I’m never completely sure what size to buy.

I am dressed to kill. IDF boots, wool socks, cargo shorts, and a baseball shirt. I ordered 6 shirts from a company that sells Anvil shirts for under five bucks each. I got three colors. You could say I am getting over being a clothes horse.

I have to go buy Scotchgard. I just have to. I can’t take these beauties out in the dirt and filth without giving them some hope of protection.

These boogers are actually made in Israel. I didn’t know that until today. Walter Sobchak would approve.

Now I have to find a home for the old ones. I hate the thought of seeing them on some unrepentant wino on the corner. Maybe it’s time to make a Goodwill drop.

Fuel for Obama?

Here is something I wish I had read before I started blogging.

Proverbs 24:17-18:

Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth:

Lest the LORD see it, and it displease him, and he turn away his wrath from him.

I see the US perched on the verge of a sharp decline into socialism, which brings poverty and totalitarianism. I used to think it was punishment for our sins. Things like pride and greed and cruelty and sexual immorality. But I have to wonder; isn’t it possible that the GOP is being repaid for gloating during the Bush years?

I certainly did it. I still have a Sore Loserman shirt. I posted a ton of material about the whininess of liberals, and I reminded them over and over that no matter how much they hated George Bush, they still had to send him their taxes every year.

Now look what’s happening.

Maybe we need to cut back on “moonbat” and so on and make more of an effort to be civil. Liberals have been much, much worse about lowering the tone of discourse, but many of them don’t know any better. They think arrogance and cruelty are virtues. If you know better, you should act like it.

What good have we done ourselves, ridiculing the opposition? None, as far as I can see. Ann Coulter raises millions (no exaggeration) for Democrat candidates, and she has probably never converted a single person to conservatism. Tell me I’m wrong. Have you ever seen a Democrat scratch his head and say, “Wow, maybe Ann Coulter has a point”?

It’s fun to vent, and liberalism is inherently silly and self-contradictory, but in the end, we are all Americans, and most of us want what’s best for everyone. We should stay focused our ultimate goals–peace and prosperity and unity–instead of settling for the short-end thrill of calling another person an assclown. If we behave ourselves, we’ll end up receiving more abuse than we deliver, but isn’t that the way life is, for good people? And isn’t it worth it, if we make America a more peaceful place and help the opposition to come around to our way of thinking?

I don’t know about you, but given the choice between being a George Will or being a Sandra Bernhard (or worse), I’d go with George every time.

Something to think about, now that we may be about to elect a cigarette-smoking, gun-grabbing President with strong socialist tendencies.

Store-Bought Poo Gets Tree Off to Pleasant Start

My fine new cara cara tree is in the ground. Praise God. And I did not even have a heart attack.

I think I did okay. One frustrating thing: the tree came in a pot a foot tall, and the packaging said to dig a hole “three times as wide and as deep” as the pot. Clearly, that means a cylindrical hole three feet deep and three feet wide. Imagine digging that in my rocky yard. No way. I got on the University of Florida website, and they said to dig a hole NO DEEPER than the pot was tall. With SLOPING SIDES. Now I was getting somewhere. That made the job possible. Had I paid attention to the packaging, I would now be dead, and the authorities could just roll me into my giant hole.

I paid for excrement. Again. I don’t know why I can’t just lower a suction hose into the septic tank. I put maybe 25 pounds of manure in the hole with the plant, and I put the dirt back in (minus a couple of gallons of rocks), and I fertilized the general area. Then I did something the university website told me to do. I mulched with Chattahoochee gravel. This is brilliant. This stuff can’t rot, it can’t hold water, and it will keep weeds down. Maybe it will save me from the weedeaters that keep ripping into my trees.

It was depressing, using my new Gerber to rip open a bag of crap. But I took a deep breath and did it. This is what I bought it for. Maybe I should have a Gator II for the yard and a clean Gator II for regular life.

I bought myself a hoe. This is a marvelous implement everyone needs. I think I was biased against buying one because of the miserable times I spent helping my cousin hoe his tobacco. But there is no hoe substitute. It does things a shovel refuses to do. And it’s really dull, so it gives me an excuse to get out the grinder.

I can’t wait for my poison to arrive so I can start systematically killing my St. Augustine grass and letting the Bermuda invade. I’m convinced that St. Augustine is just a delivery system for bugs and disease, and besides, it’s ugly. And I enjoy poisoning things, so that’s a plus.

I better eat lunch before the ambulance arrives.

This is Why I Should Have Had Kids

I have done gone crazy AGAIN.

I went out in the yard to dig a hole for a cara cara orange tree. I knew it would not be fun. The dirt here is about 40% rocks, and some are as big as hams. Most of the shovel loads I moved contained less than a pint of dirt and/or rocks. And I really enjoy the sensation of ramming the shovel through the soil, feeling as though I’m getting somewhere, and then stopping dead when I find the inevitable chunk of oolite.

I had hoped my mattock would help, but it has a three-foot handle, so to use it, I have to stoop. No, sorry. That will not work.

Og told me I could get a spade attachment for my rotary hammer, but it’s SDS Plus, and I can’t find spades that work with that format or whatever you call it.

I threw up my hands and started digging, and within three minutes I could actually hear my fat screaming for me to stop. Never dig a hole after the age of thirty. Believe me. If they started doing this in gyms, the digging people would eventually kick the crap out of the spinners and the Tae Bos, because nothing except all-out fistfighting is as tiring as making a hole.

Anyway, I eventually finished.

I decided to do this yesterday. I realized I still needed trees, and I went to Home Depot to check out the citrus. I found a nice Key lime and a cara cara, and I promised myself I could have them IF I dug the holes first. Because I did not want to see them turn into pot queens while I put it off.

A cara cara is a navel orange. Ordinarily, navel oranges are exquisitely lame. Dry, flavorless, and hard to peel. Here in Florida, no one takes them seriously except yankees. The king orange of all time isnt an orange at all. It’s a tangelo, also known as a minneola or honeybell. It’s supposed to be a cross between a grapefruit and a tangerine, but it’s more like a giant orange with a peel that falls off if you so much as look at it funny. The flesh is brilliant orange, and it tastes like a sweeter and less acidic tangerine. Down here, people like tangelos. I don’t know anyone who wastes time and space on navels.

That being said, the cara cara is special. It’s a weird hybrid. It has dark pink meat, and it tastes wonderful. It also peels easily.

I really hope I don’t die from digging holes. Maybe I’ll survive long enough to have someone bring me fruit in the hospital.

Take the Good With the Bad

Deflation. Good if you have cash. Bad if you owe money. I keep wondering if it’s on the way. Gas prices are plummeting, and so are the prices of metals.

Here is something that may make the shooters among you happy: Natchez Shooter’s Supply is selling CCI Blazer 9mm ammunition for $7.49 per box. Ammunition is full of copper and lead (and aluminum, in the case of Blazers), so as metal prices have gone insane, so has the cost of shooting. Now metals are cheaper. Maybe that’s why ammunition prices are dropping.

They’re even selling .45 ACP for under twelve bucks. If you don’t reload, this is a hell of a deal. Maybe the metal shortage is over.

Incidentally, let me ask: have any of you had bad luck with PMC .357 ammunition? The last two times I’ve tried it, I’ve had lots of duds, and I’ve been pretty unhappy with my accuracy.

Yesterday I started thinking (again) about building a belt sander. Then I looked at the price of steel. It’s ridiculous. A one-foot piece of 2″ square tubing costs $22.

Can someone explain this to me? I’m sure I can buy heavier products containing steel for less than that. And they’ve been worked and painted and shipped and advertised, so you would expect them to cost more.

I have to wonder how anyone ever comes up with the money to fabricate anything. Some time ago, I realized you can do a lot with dirt-cheap galvanized stuff, but the cold-rolled costs plenty.

I’ve noticed something else. The supply of surplus Ebay motors has dried up. Wonder what that means. Does it reflect a slowdown in business, generally?

Picking a motor is difficult even when there are a lot of them available. For example, one guy who built a grinder says he found a DC motor and speed control on Ebay. It’s nice to be able to vary the speed of a grinder. But how do you power a one-horse DC motor? Where would you get that kind of DC current? Ebay has something called a “motor drive.” I guess that’s it.

I never got the gearmotor I ordered for my pig roaster. I’m very upset about that. Maybe I should take care of that first.

New Internet Daydream

I have no intention of building a belt grinder. Let’s get that straight, right away.

But what if I were?

I have this idea. There is some empty space under my workbench. And one of the annoying things about belt grinders is the way the motors sit beside them taking up room. And another annoying thing about them is the need for some kind of post to hold the whole mess. So why couldn’t I suspend the motor under the bench, put some kind of removable access panel in the top of the bench, and fix the bench so the grinder could be attached to it quickly when I needed it? Think about it. You grab the grinder (which is not that big, in and of itself), and you pop it onto the table, and you yank the access panel, throw a drive belt on the motor and grinder pulleys, crank the belt tight, flip the power switch you mounted on the front of the bench, and GRIND, GRIND, GRIND.

Does that sound insane? Who cares.

There are free no-weld grinder plans available out there, but some of the resulting grinders are monstrosities. If you weld instead of using bolts and so on, you can use a lot less metal. And here I am, with a spiffy welder of my very own.

I assume you want a fast one-horse motor for a thing like this. Time to check Ebay.

NEVER Pick my Mangoes

I found out something surprising today.

I got myself a machete at Home Depot a while back. It’s Chinese. Looks okay, but the blade is dull, and the edge has corners on it, and they obstruct the blade when it goes into stuff. I also got a hand sharpener; one of those things you pull blades through. I figured it was very unlikely to work on a big machete, but I knew it would work on other garden items, so what the hell.

It seems to have some effect on the machete, but on the whole, it’s lame. So I started looking around the web for a better answer. The ideal answer, clearly, is to build the belt grinder I wrote about a year or two ago. It would only cost several hundred dollars, and think how sharp my Home Depot machete would be.

I didn’t come to a conclusion about the sharpening, but I learned something wonderful. Gerber and Cold Steel both make machetes and sheaths. And they’re very, very cheap (around ten bucks). So, being the incorrigible Internet shopper that I am, I got one of each. Now I will have three machetes. Overkill, perhaps, but I fail to see how that is relevant to anything.

I have a Forschner scimitar knife which is only slightly shorter than a machete. It’s for slicing big things like pigs. It has occurred to me (since I sat down to write this) that a quality machete is probably a better deal. They cost half as much, and they’re even more impressive to dinner guests.

Cold Steel makes like five million different types of machete, so I went with the bolo shape. It’s wider toward the tip, to add angular momentum when you swing it. That should be fun. The Gerber has saw teeth on the back.

These things are really dangerous to use. If you swing down and miss, off come your toes. If you swing higher, the machete goes into your shin. If you swing sideways and miss, it goes into your left hand. Something to think about.

In my experience, they’re not that useful. They’re good for cutting sod, and you can use them to clear away green plants, but anything woody is likely to be a problem for a machete. So the intelligent thing seems to be to avoid using a machete until you’re sure nothing else will do.

The self-defense possibilities are obvious. Get one of these things sharp, and you’re probably better armed than an average gun owner, who would be lucky to shoot the earth successfully with three tries.

I guess I’ll get out the grinder and see what I can do with the machete I already have. If I can get the blade to make contact with the stone.

“Banana” has to be Code for SOMETHING

I hope everyone is having as good a day as I am. I’m a fat, healthy American with a roof over my head, good food, good clothing, tons of tools, and a blog. How can life get any better than that?

I am having a hard time concentrating, because a conversation is going on.

Marv: Can I rub your snout?

Me: No.

Marv: What do you think of that?

Me: I don’t know…I think it’s a travesty.

I am cheerful in spite of the hideous weather. Once again, the sky is the color of dirty gym socks. It was like this all day yesterday, but it refused to rain. Today the chance of precipitation is 90%, but I haven’t seen any action yet. Oh, wait. The forecast has changed. Now the figure is 80%. We’re saved.

I attribute my frame of mind to my spiritual improvements. One nice thing about Christianity is that it relieves a lot of your anxiety. For example, I am not eating my liver over the possibility that we may elect Barack Obama President. I trust God to protect me when the country falls apart and goes communist. Maybe there is a reason I’ve been buying guns and learning how to grow food!

It’s good that the election is not driving me crazy, because it will keep me out of trouble. As we all know, all criticism (and even some types of praise) directed at Obama is vile and racist. So the less the race (AHA! “RACE!”) disturbs me, the less likely I am to write about it and expose my horrific bigotry.

Last night I learned that “socialist” is a “code word” for “black.” I had no idea. I thought it was a code word for “Democrat.” And there’s more. It turns out “Ayers” means “watermelon,” and “McCain” is actually secret code for the mighty N-word itself. So now the networks will have to quit running McCain ads, especially if they refer to terrorist nutcase Bill Ayers.

I think the Democrats should have gone even further, in squashing debate. They should have told us “Obama” was a black word. You know. “That’s our word. You can’t say that word.” Then conservative and moderate commentators would have had to sit out the whole campaign. And we could call this the Blackness Doctrine. Or something.

When I think of socialists, I don’t think of black people. I think of spoiled white people who hate their parents and want other people’s money. I’m fairly sure the “code word” thing was invented this month. Correct me if I’m wrong.

I guess I can’t fix the soffit today. That is tragic.

I checked the yard this morning. I have this peculiar feeling that it’s a good thing to walk around your property early every day. It looks like my newest banana tree is doing great. I can’t figure that out. It was a pup at the base of one of my Orinocos. I hacked it off with a shovel, and when I was done, it had no roots. I jammed it in a place formerly occupied by a papaya tree, and I kept the ground wet, and that was days ago, and it looks great. One day my bananas and plantains will start coming in again, and I’ll have to harvest them with a bulldozer.

I think I may give up on my fatalii pepper plant. It looks awful, and the peppers aren’t worth the effort. They’re about like white habaneros, which means they are incredibly hot and have a flavor reminiscent of the smell of sulfuric acid.

Everything else either looks good or appears to be improving.

Maybe I’ll put in a couple more citrus trees. You can’t have too many eating oranges or Key limes.

Nailing

I got myself a bunch of 8-foot tongue-and-groove boards, to fix the giant hole the bee remover left in the soffit. I’m not too optimistic. The board sample I took to the lumber store is nearly an eighth of an inch thicker than the ones I bought, but it looks like I have no choice. I went with pressure-treated; I’m not completely stupid.

I’m wondering how to attach the boards to the house. Nails, I know. But does this mean I need a nail gun?

I suppose it does. I would probably kill myself, up there under the eave, trying to hammer nails upward.

You know what this means. I get to use the compressor! The little tiny Eaton compressor? NO! The huge, belching, 220-volt Curtis compressor! Because the little one won’t drive a nailer? NO! Because the big one is more FUN.

Jobs like this are the reason I bought a hundred feet of hose, right off the bat. All I have to do is reel it out.

WOW, I just checked, and pneumatic nailers are EXPENSIVE! I think I’ll rent. They run about $250, and I’ll never use it again.

I think it may be time to look at a Sawzall. The bee people cut sections out of a whole bunch of 8-foot boards. Now every board they cut has to be replaced. That means prying and sawing to get the damned things off the house.

Pinch Me

Since I have been writing about eschatology, let me point something out. There is proof that the end of the world is nigh. I am referring to the fact that Budweiser has managed to produce a pretty decent beer.

I spent a few hours at Mancamp on Sunday, and Val offered me a Bud American Ale. I dreaded the first swig. I am familiar with ridiculous products like Killian’s, which look like beer but taste like Budmilcoors. I figured this would be the same basic deal.

I was wrong! It’s very bitter, and they used barley instead of corn and rice and cardboard. It will never be a favorite, because they bungled the hops, but still, what progress.

I barely drink anything any more, but if I felt inclined to drink a beer, and one of these were available, I wouldn’t be ashamed to take it. I could never say that about swill like Michelob and Bud Select.

Call CNN

When I started getting along with my sister, I knew there would be an early attack, to try to break it up. The enemy is an abortionist; he kills things as young as possible. Hence the slaughter in Bethlehem in Herod’s time.

Yesterday she called, and we talked about family business, and she said something very disturbing. I tried to discuss it with her rationally, and I did an okay job, but it was obvious that I was angry. And she was angrier than I was.

I prayed about it and thought about it. She called later, and before she could say anything, I told her I was sorry I had gotten angry, and I expressed a willingness to consider her position and make a compromise. In a few minutes, peace had returned. I didn’t require her to meet me halfway; I think that the farther along you are in your walk, the more you have to be willing to make allowances. You don’t plant an acorn and then try to hang a swing on it the next day. Today things are fine. I’m glad I saw this problem coming, so I had some idea how to deal with it. I knew how to get help from God, and he got things working again.

Today I feel like I won an Olympic medal; I got up at 6 a.m. That’s half an hour better than my previous efforts. And when I got up, I felt good. All my life, I have felt miserable in the morning, and I’ve had a very hard time forcing myself out of bed, especially when I had no pressing obligations that required me to rise. These days, when I go to bed, I look forward to getting up. I can’t tell you how weird that is. When the alarm goes off, there are things I want to get up and do. I want to start getting up at 5:30, but I don’t know if that’s practical, because it would mean bed at 9 p.m.

I took care of Communion and prayer, and then I went out to check the plants. It was still almost dark. I decided to get rid of my sugar apple tree. It was a gift; the guy who planted it is an Indian. He said it came from the grounds of some temple or other in South America. At the time, I didn’t think it would matter.

The tree never grew. In fact, I could swear it actually got smaller. I tried to fix it, and I managed to make it healthy and green, but it never amounted to anything. Today I thought about that, and I thought about the temple connection, and I thought about the problems my other trees and plants have had, and I dug the sugar apple up and dumped it in the trash heap. I’ll find something better to put in its spot. Something with no heathen connection.

I spent some time watching a video today. Perry Stone. It was about the Antichrist. As I have said before, I am no eschatology buff, but this is what I had on hand. Interesting stuff.

He believes the Antichrist is the person the Muslims call the 12th Mahdi or 12th Imam. He says they believe this person will emerge from one of two towns in Iraq, and that a couple of well-known mosque blasts were efforts to prevent him from coming. The Shias think he’ll come from one place, and the Sunnis believe he’ll come from another, so each side blew up the other side’s chosen place.

Furthermore, he says the Muslims believe our presence in Iraq is delaying things. And here we are, with B. Hussein Obama threatening to take charge and bring our troops home. Stone didn’t mention Obama. The video was made before Obama rose to prominence. But I couldn’t help thinking about him.

He also says Osama bin Laden considers himself the 12th Mahdi, and that many Muslims agree, and that Muqtada al-Sadr is preparing his militia for the Mahdi’s return.

Stone said Iran’s Ahmadinejad believes in this stuff, and that he is preparing railroads and hotels and so on for the crowds that will show up when the Mahdi comes back. I can’t remember the Iran connection; I don’t know why you would prepare Iran for an event in Iraq.

I had never heard any of this before. I don’t know what to make of it. I can’t say whether he’s wrong or right. Prophecy teachers always jump the gun. After all the things they’ve predicted, the world is still here. In a video, Stone makes fun of himself for telling people (in 1981) that Anwar Sadat was a prominent eschatological figure (Sadat was assassinated two weeks later). But it’s clear that the Middle East is the most important place on earth, and that the reason is that it is a battleground of spirits, not men. It will always be the focal point of earthly existence.

He has a video on the Rapture. This isn’t something I worry a lot about. If I die and go to heaven, or if I’m taken up while I’m alive, things will work out. I worry more about how I live here on earth. Whatever may happen after I die, Christian life is wonderful right now, and I want it for myself and the people I care about. I haven’t really concerned myself about the nature of the Rapture, or even about its existence, which many people doubt. Nonetheless, I was interested in what he had to say.

I had always assumed that all Christians received their reward pretty much at the times of their deaths. But he says that if you lead an unproductive, backward life, you may be shut out when the Rapture comes, and you may have to stay here and suffer–badly–for a while. Imagine living in a world where no one knows God, and no one prays. Evil with no brakes.

I don’t know the answer, but I do know we’re supposed to lead Godly lives. And I know we are rewarded for it, not just in heaven, but here.

Tomorrow I will be up at 6, to see what else I can do to improve my life.

More Stuff we All Need

You know what I really REALLY want? Other than a pickup?

1. A floor drill press.

2. A Saiga 12 shotgun.

I’m just about positive we are going to see the price of tools drop considerably, because commodities are getting cheap and the dollar is getting strong. So I am hoping I’ll be able to get a good deal on a drill press. And I am convinced that a Saiga 12 shotgun with a laser and extended magazines is just about the best security weapon you can get for under a thousand dollars.

What is a Saiga 12? It’s an AK-47 that shoots 12-gauge rounds. And you can get ten-round clips, which negates the big weakness of security shotguns, which is capacity. So hopefully, you get AK reliability, autoloader speed, 12-gauge stopping power, and rifle capacity.

These guns are supposed to be super-reliable, and they cycle fast, and you can have one for a little over five hundred bucks. And I’m pretty sure no rifle or pistol can compare, in terms of effectiveness. Being hit with one dose of buckshot is like being shot by several .30-caliber weapons at once.

I considered a Saiga .410. Supposedly, .410 loads are highly effective, and you get less recoil and muzzle rise and so on. But gun nuts seem convinced that 12 gauge is the way to go.

Right now, I depend on pistols to protect myself. And pistols are swell. They work great at household distances, and they’re easy to carry and maneuver. But it’s easy to miss with a pistol. If you’re within a hundred feet, I can pretty much count on hitting you at will with a long gun, even if you’re moving and I shoot from the hip. At least, I have found that to be true in the past. I guess you wouldn’t want to shoot from the hip if you could avoid it, because of recoil problems, but it illustrates the difference between pistols and long guns. It’s also harder to shoot yourself with a long gun.

Last time I went to the range, I looked at the nearly-new lumber they had put in the ground by the targets. It was the same stuff they use to make railroad ties. There were long pieces of it running across the range in front of the target bases. Mike and I were amazed to see that the wood already had bullet tracks in it. Seven yards from the firing line! There are people who go to the gun range and aim at the targets from seven yards and hit the ground! Bet that doesn’t happen much with long guns.

I think you can also put bayonets on these things. Not sure. Imagine explaining that to the cops, when they arrive to scoop up a criminal’s remains.

I saw a nice Delta bench drill press yesterday at Lowe’s. I felt like hugging it. I keep thinking of all the miserable jobs I’ve had to do, that would have been simple with a drill press. Maybe I’ll get my wish, and Steel City prices will slide back to ’07 levels.

I’m Burnin’ Daylight

This is horrendous. A disaster. This morning I didn’t wake up until 7:20!

I exaggerate for effect. How unusual.

I have been getting up at 6:30 to start the day off right with Communion and prayer and so on. It’s fantastic. I actually look forward to getting up, which is beyond weird. I do my religious stuff, and I go out and tend the plants, and I get the birds ready for their day, and by the time the world is functioning, I already have a good day going. I’m hoping I can eventually find it in myself to move it to 6:00 or 5:30, although I would have to go to bed no later than 9 p.m. in order for 5:30 to work. Waking up 50 minutes late was highly disturbing. I felt like a degenerate.

A month or two ago, I always shot for 7:30, but it seemed like I always ran into a situation that kept me up late or interrupted my sleep, so generally, I was managing 8:00 or 8:30, and it wasn’t unusual to wake up at 9:30. I am not having these problems any more.

The writer Georges Simenon filled shelves with popular books. When he was asked how he managed to write so much, he said he worked from 5:30 to 8:30 every morning, and that was about it. I don’t know if he was serious, but Stephen King, who is also prolific, says he writes for four hours a day. There is something about the early hours that makes them more productive. Maybe it’s the simple fact that other people aren’t awake to distract you and waste your time.

I use my TV as an alarm clock. Twice, it has let me down. I have no explanation. Both times, I checked the settings, and they were correct. I guess I’ll have to use a backup.

Here is odd news. My father visited Mancamp this weekend, sort of. We were actually next door, at Pat’s house. Pat has built a magnificent outdoor bar and grill. While my dad was there, he took a look at Pat’s new travel trailer. These things are going dirt cheap right now, so Pat got himself one. Dad was very taken with it, and now he feels he has to have one. Or a motorhome.

Guess who has been assigned the duty of helping him research?

I had a feeling my readers would know about stuff like this, so let me ask. I tend to think his best bet is a trailer and a pickup. The total cost is cheaper than an RV, and you don’t have to drag a crappy little car so you’ll have something to drive when your house is parked. You can take off in the pickup. Also, the pickup is useful in and of itself, when you’re not traveling. And it should be easier to repair than an RV. He has a choice between a regular trailer connection and a bigger one that requries a fifth wheel. Seems to me that the fifth wheel will ruin the pickup.

Anyone have any clues to share?

Also, what brands should he avoid? So far he believes Coachmen looks good.

He wants me to join him on trips from time to time. The obvious question: what do you do with two parrots in a situation like that? You can’t put them in a pickup, unless you want to eat all your meals in the truck while you’re driving. The alternative is leaving them in the hot pickup interior to die. You can’t keep them in the trailer with no air conditioning. And what would you do with them when the trailer was parked? You can’t sleep in a trailer with two parrots. Impossible. I you put them outside, they’d be in danger from predators, kooks, thieves, and exposure. And indoors, they would fling seeds everywhere. I guess they’d have to go to the bird hotel, which means short trips only.

The up side of all this, apart from the possibility of spending some quality time with my father, is that he may get a pickup, which would mean I could steal it when needed, instead of buying my own.

Not that I ever think that way.

Not This Time, Anyway

I survived plant-shopping with my sister. And I came home with a nice dragon fruit cactus. I have been wanting one of these. The fruit’s flesh is sort of like a kiwi. Most have white or magenta flesh, and the flavor varies depending on the variety.

The nice thing about these is that as they grow, you can break off pieces of them and plant them.

I carved a pup (new plant sprout) off one of my Orinoco banana trees the other day and planted it. I thought I had destroyed it, but two days later, it looks great. Figure once I have three of each variety going, I will be able to count on a fairly steady supply of bananas and plantains.

I am truly pooped. Must go beat Marv.

Be Awake Before Your Enemies Get Set Up

Life continues to improve here.

As mentioned in an earlier post, my sister told me about an evangelist named Perry Stone, and she said one of his teachings was that Communion was something that could, and should, be celebrated privately as well as publicly. I read his book, The Meal That Heals, and I heard my sister’s testimony about the transforming effects, so I decided to give it a shot. I have kept it up ever since. I have also started getting up at 6:30 to spend the first hour or ninety minutes of the day with God. I’ve tried to do that in the past, but until now, I found it impossible.

For some reason, evil things are most active at night. So it’s probably smart to get to bed early and to get up and start preparing your defense (and offense) while it is still dark. To undo whatever traps have been set for you.

I have been using grape juice. The thought of drinking wine in the morning is just too much for me. And from what I’ve read, I’m satisfied that grape juice will get the job done. I started out with Streit’s lightly salted matzos, but I have since switched to Manischewitz whole wheat. It’s probably more like the stuff they used 2,000 years ago, and it’s not a big dose of refined carbs.

I don’t use a tiny amount of these things; I pour a 12-ounce glass of juice, and I use a whole matzo. I would feel funny playing around with tiny slivers of matzo and a glass the size of a thimble. The first Communion was part of a meal; I figure I might as well do what people do at meals and consume normal amounts. One problem: I really like grape juice. I have to be careful not to drink it during the day, because then I won’t have it when I need it.

When I take Communion, I make a serious effort to search my heart for things that will invalidate the effort. I try to remember whether I’ve wronged anyone and whether there is anyone I haven’t forgiven. And I pray about those things.

When it’s over, I have time for study and prayer, and after that, I fix up the birds and go outside and look over my trees and plants. That right there is a great reward. Although the climate here is not quite like the climate in Israel, the foliage is very similar. Walking around in the dew with the citrus around me, I feel as though I have been transported back to the Jezreel. I remember hopping off the wagon after my ride to the grapefruit fields and finding my ladder and the three wooden boxes that had been placed there by IDF General Eli, who managed the grove when he wasn’t commanding tanks. I remember climbing out of the Jeep and stepping onto the rich brown dirt of the almond fields and waiting for Zev and Avshi and Kalman to tell me what we would be doing.

Fortunately, the yard doesn’t remind me of the day I spent working in the chicken house. Don’t get me started.

Because of the way my schedule has changed, the day seem longer, and I get more done, and when bedtime comes, I am ready to sleep. It’s just a better way to live. If it happens after ten p.m., odds are, you are better off missing out on it. Seems like that principle applies to a lot of things. If it’s on a pay channel, you are better off not watching it. If it’s network-TV entertainment, you are better off not seeing it.

Here’s a funny example. Now that I carry a gun all the time, I can’t go into bars. It’s the law. Hmm…isn’t that a win-win situation? Seriously, is there anything that happens in a bar that makes the visit worth the down side?

Life is changing. I am discarding the objects and practices that invite attack and corruption. It’s like debriding a wound and removing the dead, infected crud the bacteria use as a base. I didn’t realize it until this morning, but Communion is part of that. You can’t just do it. You have to prepare yourself and clean up your soul. Holding hatred and vengeance and other bad things in your heart is about like keeping a Ouija board in your closet.

It’s all about t’shuvah; turning back to God. That’s where the power comes from. Think of God as the sun and yourself as a solar panel.

According to the Talmud (says Aaron), Jewish tradition teaches that today (beginning last night) is the Yom Kippur of the Gentiles. Fine with me. Two days of atonement have to be better than one. One day for the olive tree, and another day for the grafted branches. Can’t complain about that.

This morning, I will be driving my sister to Fort Lauderdale, to some sort of a garden center. How about that? I couldn’t have predicted that two months ago.

I have to thank everyone who offered guidance. Of course, I have to thank all the readers who quietly kept me in their prayers. And above all, God.

Time for breakfast.