Irrigation shock

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Snake in the irrigation control box

Our RV site is irrigated, meaning that our lovely bushes and shrubs are supposed to get a daily dose of water.  But I have seen the system work exactly once in the two years we have been in residence – I heard the sprinklers activate once at about 2am.  Somewhere way down on my To Do list is “call the irrigation company.”  But it never rises very high because the flora does fine without any assistance.  Everything is always green and lush.

Until this month.  March was pretty much rain-free in Fort Myers.  The grass is turning brown and I have been hand-watering our two new bushes.  But before I called the irrigation company I thought I should take a look in the control box – buried behind our huge palm shrubs.

Surprise! A snake was curled up in there.  It didn’t move when I lifted the lid and for a second I thought it was dead.  My second thought was “it might be poisonous” so I carefully replaced the lid.  It started to move as I did so.

It wasn’t huge – maybe 18″ and the thickness of my pinkie.  But small venomous snakes can be deadly.  So I wanted to identify it.  After 10 minutes on the laptop I got the answer: eastern corn snake.  Non-venomous.

But I think I will let the irrigation company take it from here.

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Lee Memorial Park

Lee Memorial Park

Lee Memorial Park

I have several times alluded to the time I spend in cemeteries, usually looking for the graves of ancestors – either Jett’s or mine.  But this season, I have taken to walking cemeteries as (1) a way of getting some regular mild exercise and (2) collecting some feel-good endorphins.  No ancestors involved as neither of us have any ancestors buried in the area.

I have, in the past, tried to satisfy some “photo requests” posted in findagrave.com.  These are requests for headstone photos posted by geographically-distant relatives.  But there are relatively few of these and many are impossible to resolve as the headstone may be missing or the grave location is incorrect.  That means a lot of walking with little satisfaction.  I get plenty of exercise but no endorphins.  This season I decided to go after easier prey – unphotographed graves.  In many cemeteries there are relatively few of these as well.  But I noticed that one large nearby cemetery – Lee Memorial Park in Lehigh Acres, just a few miles away – had over 15% unphotographed graves.  Since the cemetery has over 11,500 graves, that meant over 1,800 opportunities to feel good.  Finding and photographing graves on this list became a season-long goal.

I am not finished yet, but my current count of photographed graves is north of 1,200.  I believe it will be over 1,400 when I finish.  I think it will probably take another 6 or 7 hours in the cemetery. Should be easy to do before we head north.  Because, with everything closed in the pandemic, I have plenty of spare time.

I couldn’t have predicted this, of course, when I embarked on this task, but it turns out to be a really good way to get exercise during a pandemic.  It is very easy to adhere to “social distancing” rules when I am surrounded by dead people.  There are, occasionally, other visitors to the cemetery, but it is a huge cemetery and it is very easy to avoid other living humans.

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“Personal” by Lee Child

Copyright 2014 by Lee Child. Published by Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

There is no such thing as a bad Jack Reacher book, but some are better than others.  This one, #19 in the series, is about average.  It features an interesting primary plot in which Reacher is tasked – unofficially as he is a private citizen – to track down a sniper (or maybe 2 snipers) who might be gunning for one or more leaders of the western world who will be meeting in a couple of weeks at the G8 summit in London.  The alarm is raised when the French President is nearly assassinated, from a distance of 1400 yards, while giving a speech in Paris but is saved by a super-strong pane of security glass on the lectern at which he was speaking.  That incident turns out to be not only a close call but a key clue in figuring out whodunit.

Reacher is fingered for the task because the primary suspect – John Kott – has a grudge against Reacher who captured and provided testimony that sent him away to a military prison for 16 years.   This animosity is confirmed when Reacher finds his lair in the North Carolina woods where Kott was using photos of Reacher for target practice.

But Kott, if he is indeed one of the snipers (and it wouldn’t be much of a book if he wasn’t) is being bankrolled by someone with some resources.  A guy just out of prison is in no position to buy a new sniper rifle, a thousand rounds of 40-caliber bullets at $4 per and get a ticket to fly to France.

Most of the action takes place in or near London where Kott has teamed up with not one, but two criminal gangs. Reacher goes to London and tracks him down with the help of Casey Nice, an attractive sub-30 CIA agent assigned temporarily to the State Department.  A relationship between Reacher and Nice blossoms, but unlike most Reacher books, this one never reaches the bed.  It is more father/daughter.  Is Reacher growing up?  Inquiring minds want to know.

Reacher does get opportunities to bust heads, nuts, knees and spleens.  The body count creeps up.  It is a lot of violence for Merry Old England, but Reacher escapes any accountability.  As expected.  It is feel-good mayhem.

It finishes with a twist which is pretty common for Reacher books.  So, all-in-all, a pretty average Reacher adventure.

7 out of 10.

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George and Melissa (Freeman) Richardson

Headstone

Headstone

I haven’t done much genealogical research lately, though I have been getting a lot of exercise walking cemeteries. This morning I decided to catch up on some accumulated Ancestry.com “hints.” In doing so I think I solved – at least partially – one of the great mysteries in my ancestry: how George Watson Freeman, a 2nd great-grandfather who was born in Ohio, met and married Melissa Jane Freeman, born in Missouri. They married, probably in Kansas but possibly in Colorado, in 1865 and settled in Wisconsin in 1873. They are buried together in the East Pine River Cemetery in Yuba, Wisconsin. I found and photographed their headstone in 2017.

See the mystery? Ohio, Missouri, Colorado, Kansas, Wisconsin. How the heck did that all come about? That is a lot of travel at a time when railroads were just being established in the middle of America.

Today I dug into some records – both old and newly-discovered – and can now provide some details of these movements.

First, George’s father and mother, Zacheus and Sarah Ann “Sally” (Francisco) Richardson, 3rd great-grandparents, were pioneers in their own right. Both were born in the Northeast – he in Springfield VT (in the Connecticut River valley) and she in German NY, near Binghamton. Sometime before 1827 they both moved west, to Ohio, which was the “wild west” at that time. They married in 1827 in Mayfield OH, a town which he helped found. George was born there in 1840.

Apparently Ohio in 1845 wasn’t wild enough because Zacheus and Sally picked up their family then and moved even further west, to Illinois when George was just 5. They purchased 80.2 acres in McHenry County IL, just west of Chicago, on June 1, 1845. The farm grew to over 120 acres before Zacheus’ death in 1865.

George inherited his parents’ pioneering spirit and as a young man of 19 became a miner, first in Utah and then in Colorado. In 1862 he enlisted in the US Army, serving during the Civil War in Company G, Second Regiment of the Colorado Volunteer Infantry. He served there 3 years, after which he reenlisted in Company E, Second Colorado Cavalry. It was between those enlistments that he married Melissa Freeman. She must have been with him, based at a frontier fort in the west, until he mustered out, probably after 2 or 3 years. They lived for a while in Lawrence, Kansas, before moving to LaFarge, Wisconsin, in 1873.

I found a note that described the Second Regiment as “being raised by ‘Buckskin Joe.’”  This apparently refers to Joe Higgenbottom, a miner who discovered gold in Colorado in 1860, leading to a gold rush.  It is pretty likely that this gold discovery is what brought George to Colorado from Utah and why he later joined Buckskin Joe’s regiment.

I found the following account of his time in the infantry:

He served principally in the west and southwest, having first proceeded with his command to New Mexico, and later having been at St. Louis, Fort Scott, Kansas and Fort Smith, Arkansas, hunting for bushwhackers.  He finally returned with his command to Colorado and at Fort Riley he received his honorable discharge May 12, 1865.

Fort Riley is actually in Kansas.  He married Melissa Freeman in April 1865, just prior to his discharge, probably at Fort Riley.  She was probably living in or near Fort Riley at that time.

I don’t have any description of his time in the cavalry, but I can imagine that he was involved in protecting the pioneer settlements in the west from Indian attacks.  If he spent any time at Fort Riley then he probably met Major General George Custer who was in command of Fort Riley for a time starting in 1866.

So this answers the basic question of how a woman born in Missouri got into my family tree – she met a gold miner and soldier in the wild west.  This is one of the more colorful leaves on my tree and Melissa Freeman is a critical link to our Virginia ancestors; all other branches came through New England or New York.

Categories: Family, Genealogy | 2 Comments

Air conditioning!

I bought an air conditioner for the shed on March 3, 2019 – just over a year ago. The intent, at the time, was to get it installed to keep the shed cool through the summer of 2019. Didn’t happen. And attempts to get it installed this year hadn’t gotten anywhere. But, finally, it got installed this week.

Ribbing

Ribbing

The major icebreaker was reaching agreement with the contractor on the cost of plumbing, insulation and carpentry – including installation of the air conditioner. A construction permit was pulled last week and a few days later two workmen showed up at my door (but stood 6 feet away) offering to begin work. The first step was to install “ribbing” in the ceiling, to make room for the required R-19 insulation. I dutifully cleared out some of the stuff to make room (most was on the shelving in the middle of the room which they said I could leave). I asked if they would be installing the air conditioner and they said they would. But not that day.

But they surprised me. I guess the ribbing work went faster than expected and by the end of the day the air conditioner was installed and operational.

But not remotely controlled.

After I bought the air conditioner I tested it to make sure it worked and configured it for remote control in the (vain) hope that I could get someone to install it while we were north last summer and could then monitor and control it from there. But when I took a look for the remote control app on my phone it was nowhere to be found. Don’t know why it disappeared, but it was gone. I would have to download and configure it again. Frustrating, but no big deal. It didn’t take much effort the first time and the second time should be even easier. Right?

So I downloaded the app and almost immediately hit a roadblock: I needed the password from the label on the right side of the air conditioner. But, now installed in the wall, the label could no longer be seen. So I had to call for technical support. That took three phone calls before I found a person who could help. Then I had to download a second app to get the MAC address of the air conditioner. But the tech support guy was able to use that to look up the password and I was then able to finish the configuration. I can now monitor and control the air conditioner from anywhere in the world where I have cell phone or WiFi access.

Yes, I wrote down the password in case I need it again.

All of this was done during mounting concern over the COVID-19 pandemic. I made it a point to keep as distant as possible from the workmen, to never touch them and, just once, when I was inspecting the air conditioner installation, getting within 3 feet of either of them. Later that day, when walking Rusty, I stopped by the newly-closed pool. If there is a photo that captures the impact of the pandemic in the RV resort, this is it. An empty pool on a beautiful “in season” afternoon. Sad.

Air conditioner, installed

Air conditioner, installed

Shuttered pool

Shuttered pool

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Gearing up for a blog upgrade

I am – or was – a professional software developer. I spent over 45 years developing commercial software, mostly of high quality. The term “development cycle” is one that I have heard so many times that it may be tattooed on my forehead. So why, in the 9 years since I started this blog, have I not upgraded the underlying blogging software?

Laziness, mostly. And a firm belief that if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it.

But now it is broken. Well, it has been broken for several years, really. Those few of you who followed the blog in the early years might recall that the blog’s original theme included a graphic banner. That disappeared about 5 years ago. The feature that allowed a reader to filter by date or tag was lost two or three years ago. It is no longer possible now to scroll back in time further than the list of posts that are provided on the page. All of these features just disappeared, without warning, over time, as, I presume, parts of the underlying technologies became incompatible with each other. I am now getting warning messages that the WordPress blogging software that is the keystone to the whole operation is about to become obsolete.

I can no longer ignore all of these failures. Time to bite the bullet and try to bring the blog up to date. This is going to require some work on my part. That is okay – I am retired and with the coronavirus raging, what better time to stay indoors and work on a project like this? But there is a risk that I could screw it up and completely break the whole thing. I am hoping that the technologies that need to be upgraded are forgiving and “idiot proof.” But I think it is possible that the blog could go dark for a while.

My hope, however, is that the upgrade will go smoothly and the the blog will emerge with all of the original capabilities restored. And maybe some new ones added. The look-and-feel will certainly change.

If you have any thoughts about features to be added, let me know.

Otherwise, please just pray that I don’t mess this up.

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Flooring!

After many months of inaction, there is now some movement toward getting a washer/dryer installed in the shed. The main goal right now is plumbing – can’t wash clothes without water – but I also have to get the air conditioner installed and get the walls insulated. I spoke to a contractor last week and a plumber before that and came to an agreement on price. The contractor applied for a building permit on Monday (yes, the county office was still open for business, unlike almost everything else).

And I confirmed that I could install the flooring without affecting any of the upcoming work.

So I worked this past weekend – in sweltering 90-degree heat and oppressive humidity – installing the laminate flooring that I had bought a year ago. The installation was not difficult – I just had to make sure the the tongue-in-groove boards mated tightly so there were no unsightly spaces – but I had no power tools and had to saw everything by hand. And the biggest job was moving everything out of the shed then, when done, moving it all back in again.

I think the job took about 6 hours spread over two days. And about a gallon of sweat. I haven’t worked that hard in years. Jett got a photo of me when I came in for a break – my shirt was SOAKED.

But I got ‘er done. And it looks great.

Nearing completion

Nearing completion

Sweat

Sweat

Completed

Completed

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“The Steel Kiss” by Jeffery Deaver

Copyright 2016 by Gunner Publications LLC. Published by Grand Central Publishing, New York.

I like Deaver’s Lincoln Rhyme books (this is 12 in a series of 14). Some of the puzzles that he has to unravel are among the most intricate – and perverted – of all the mysteries that I have read. His villains are among the most cunning, savage and brutal. I usually can’t put the book down.

I put this one down. Frequently.

A little background for those not familiar with Lincoln Rhyme. He is a quadriplegic, a former captain in the NYPD whose spinal cord was damaged beyond repair while working a crime scene. Since that time he has worked as a consultant to the NYPD, solving some of their knottiest cases. He is ably assisted by Amelia Sachs, an active NYPD detective and lover who is engaged to Rhyme. There are several other active NYPD detectives who assist. It is a formidable crew, dedicated to solving the crime(s) through thorough analysis of meager trace evidence.

The Rhyme books are not classic whodunnits – we know who the culprit is (mostly). He even gets his own first person narrative in parts of this book. The mystery is the motive and how he will be caught.

This book is complex in that no fewer than 4 – or is it 5 – separate stories are intertwined. The unsub – he is actually called “Unsub 40” through much of the book – is a tall, rail-thin man who is suspected of several heinous crimes. Sachs is hot on his trail at the inception, only to be thwarted as she closes in on her prey as he is eating lunch in a shopping mall by the intervention of a horrible accident – a man falls into the workings of an escalator and is chewed to death as Sachs tries to save him. But we soon learn that it wasn’t an accident – someone hacked the wireless controller embedded in the escalator, causing the cover plate on the gearbox to open while operating. I don’t think it will spoil much if I tell you that the hacker is Unsub 40 and he popped the cover while having lunch.

Lincoln, who in this book has terminated his work with the NYPD, takes on a task for the lawyer representing the wife of the chewed-up shopper. Eventually Sachs and Rhyme figure out they are dealing with the same perp and join forces. But there are still other subplots: the appearance of Sach’s old flame, an ex-cop who was sent upriver for a truck hijacking that he now claims he didn’t do, a drug dealer that another detective is trying to nail because he thinks it will get Lincoln working for NYPD again, and the actions of the unsub’s mysterious and somewhat pathetic girlfriend. It is all pretty confusing. It all comes together at the end, but you have to embark on a torturous ride to get there.

There are plot twists. Lots of plot twists. But, more than any other Lincoln Rhyme book, this one seemed to rely less on evidence and more on dumb luck and conclusions based on very thin evidence. The reader is asked to buy into some fairly far-fetched wrinkles in the plot. I didn’t buy into them and so had a hard time getting through to the end. It felt like a slog in some very thick quicksand.

5 out of 10.

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Life in the time of corona

Two weeks ago if you had said “corona” I would have said “beer.” Now? Maybe “death.” How quickly things can change!

I am not panicked. I think the extreme actions taken in response to the coronavirus pandemic – cancellation or postponement of sporting events, shutting down Broadway, closing Disneyworld – are probably overreactions. But appropriate overreactions. The downside of taking no action – death for thousands of elderly – is worse than the downside of taking action – economic disruption.

We had an HOA meeting on Tuesday to elect our first Board of Directors. That meant a gathering of over 200 mostly elderly people in one room. This is a group of very healthy elderly folks, but I have to admit that I was very sensitive to the sound of coughing. Fortunately there were very few coughs during the 90-minute meeting, but every time I heard one I was speculating whether Typhoid Mary was in attendance.

Even our senior softball games have changed slightly. Instead of the after-game high-fives it is now a line of elbow bumps. I guess we are fortunate in that we never have more than 10 spectators, so we aren’t running afoul of any “large gathering” restrictions.

Anyway, wash your hands, stay at least 6 feet away from me and hopefully we will both survive the next couple of months.

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My last colonoscopy

HealthPark Hospital atrium

HealthPark Hospital atrium

Yes, I had a colonoscopy on Friday. I was overdue – I was on the “5-year plan” and it was at least 7 years since my last one and perhaps as long as 9. I don’t enjoy colonoscopies any more than most; it is just something that needs to be done occasionally. Probably similar to breast exams.

As always the preparation was the worst part of the experience. Drinking 4 liters of what seemed like diluted antifreeze is not fun. But I got it down successfully, finishing it off 3 hours before the procedure.

Jett is unable to drive right now, so I asked my neighbor, Mark, to pick me up. He graciously agreed to do that and even more graciously offered to drive me there, too – 30 minutes each way. I thought this was asking too much and because I thought there would be perhaps a 3-hour interval between dropoff and pickup, it would mean 2 round trips. Too much to ask.

So Plan A was to take Uber. This would be an adventure as I had never taken an Uber anywhere before by myself. I downloaded the app, got the payment details set up and was ready to schedule the ride Friday morning. But when I tried to do that – about 8 times – I got an error stating that the payment could not be completed. Don’t know why. Something to figure out before my next attempt at using Uber. In the meantime, I have been charged $50 for my Uber account which is still unused.

Plan B was a conventional taxi. So I called at 8:30am to arrange an 11:40am pickup. I would meet the taxi at the gate to avoid the complexities of getting into the community and finding my site. So I was at the gate by 11:40am but by 11:45am had not seen a taxi. I called the company, asking if a taxi was en route. No, they said, but I would get “the next driver who was in the area.” The driver would call when he was on his way. As I had no expectation that any driver would EVER be “in the area” I had to move on to Plan C – call Mark.

Mark was at McDonald’s, but agreed to pick me up and drive me to the hospital. Which he did (THANK YOU, MARK).

Plan D, if it had been needed, was to drive myself and worry about recovering the car on Saturday.

I was a few minutes late getting to the hospital – and they called me at 12:32pm to see if I was planning on being there. I assured them that I was just a few minutes away.

The taxi driver called at 12:39pm – one hour late – and I told him that his services were no longer needed.

I got through registration and into my gown by 1pm and was immediately taken into the procedure room. The anesthesia was administered shortly thereafter with the warning that “this will sting a little.” It did and my last conscious thought was “how long will the sting last?” and then I was out. Some 30 minutes later I was suddenly awake – 1:37pm by my watch – and was informed that the colonoscopy was finished. Mark received a call at 1:39pm to pick me up. Amazing efficiency. I was in Mark’s truck, on my way home, a few minutes after 2pm – exactly 1 hour after I was rolled into the procedure room. Obviously my expectation of a 3-hour procedure was wildly off target.

Mark, wisely, had not left the area. He used the time to pick up dinner – lobster rolls – from the Cape Cod Fish Company. He had thoughtfully gotten lobster rolls for Jett and me, too. Delicious! And a nice way to break my fast.

So all of this was interesting in a “my, how things have changed!” sort of way. But the most memorable part of the whole experience was afterward, as the tubes and electrodes were being removed, when the nurse told me that I had completed my “last colonoscopy.” Because the colonoscopy had gone so well – no polyps – I was back on the 10-year plan. And because they don’t do colonoscopies on anyone over 80, I would never need one again.

She said this with a smile and I could see how she thought this was great news. But to someone my age, being told that this was, without any question, the last time I would experience this in my lifetime was quite sobering. It was like an official notification that I have entered the End Stage of Life.

As a memento of the occasion I was given a postcard-sized photograph of the interior of my large colon. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to possess such a thing and I certainly am not going to include it here (you’re welcome). But I haven’t completely ruled out using it as my 2020 Christmas card photo.

Categories: Adventures, FL, Health, Places | 1 Comment