Bottle Cap Treasures

For several years I’ve been walking around the track at our local park.

It’s a standard quarter mile of level blacktop walkway. The field at its center

is grass and weeds and gopher holes. There are always kids and dogs and old

people sitting or walking, playing catch or kicking a ball. It’s a nice place ringed

by scrub oaks on grassy hillsides. My goal is to walk 12 laps. I listen to music

and sometimes carry a notepad so I can jot down story ideas. It’s easy to lose

count of how many laps I’ve walked so I started picking up a stone that I would

find on each revolution and set the stone on a garbage bin. 1 stone for each

revolution. One day I picked up a bottle cap instead. You don’t see these very

often. It was creased on top and the tines on one edge were pried up from the

opener.  It said Dr. Pepper in bright red flowing script. It looked happy. I used the

bottle cap instead of a rock for that revolution. And when I finished my walk that

day I tossed Dr. Pepper behind the bin.

He was still there the next day so I picked him up and used him again to record my

progress. I started looking for other bottle caps to use as markers and soon started

finding many abandoned objects along the trail. I found a little green Army

Man, rifle to shoulder and looking for an enemy. I found three plastic beads connected

by string. Each square bead had a letter, B   E   C.  Part of a bracelet was my guess. I found

many plastic screw tops from water bottles. I had little interest in these. As time went on

I found more bottle caps and interesting little bits of larger things. I moved my collection

up the hill and behind a large bush. When I would arrive for a walk I would collect a few

of them and use them for markers. I didn’t need 12 of them anymore. I would use only two.

I would set one at the 12 o’clock position on the top of the bin and move the second to

the 1 o’clock position after I finished my first lap. After the second lap I move the marker

from 1 o’clock to 2 o’clock  and on around the imaginary clock face on the

top to the bin for each revolution.

During one of my walks I noticed a little girl with a plastic bag, her Mom also had a bag and

they were walking the trail picking up bits of paper and other debris. There was a soccer
game in the field and a lot of people about. I saw a few more people with their kids picking
up trash. Highly commendable. It also occurred to me that my markers on the bin were a
prime candidate for their endeavor. From across the field I watched a woman walk to the
bin and sweep my two markers into the center opening. I thought this pretty funny and when
I got back to the bin I was able to easily retrieve the markers and set them again on their
proper places. I kept an eye on the bin and a few minutes later a man walked over with his
bag and didn’t sweep them in but picked them up and put them in his bag!  My first thought
was to run over there and ask for them back with of course an explanation. But on second
thought I laughed at myself and thought I would seem to be a crazy person. After a few
more laps I found a plastic stir stick with a strange embossed symbol on it. Quite a prize!
My 12 laps complete I headed for the exit to the park. I stopped to drop my new prize
behind the bush and found that all my treasures were gone.

It was a shock to see the little pile of bits and pieces I’d collected gone. Some I will miss
but I have a new appreciation for the things that are dear to me, large and small.

Mabel's iPhone

Good news on Mabel’s iPhone. After its dunk in the toilet the

phone was rinsed and locked in a bag of rice for a week. (The rice

will absorb all the moisture.)  After three days we gave up and

Mab started shopping for a new iPhone ($750).  After 5 days we

were sure the phone had given up its ghost and Mabel pulled

out her old iPhone and got it activated. After 7 days the phone

showed some very small signs of life. The little Apple logo would

light up and then all would go quiet. On the 8^th day after being

charged, the phone booted to the lock screen. I ran upstairs

and showed Mabel this miracle. Kind of a miracle in reverse since

the phone went in the toilet on Easter Weekend. Mabel unlocked

the phone and everything sprang to the desktop. All the juicy fruit

colored icons were clamoring for attention. Everything looked normal

until Mabel loaded an app with a white background. The screen looked

like a sky with big puffy white clouds. It was really kind of pretty but

the fact was the screen had been compromised.  Mabel was still happy

that the phone functioned normally aside from the art deco patterns

on the screen. She tested the battery life and made calls and sent texts.

Everything worked! And after a few days when next I looked at the phone

the clouds seemed to be slightly smaller. I pulled up the memo app that

looks like lined paper and counted how many lines the clouds crossed.

This was to compare the screen at a later date to see if the clouds really

had diminished. Mabel loved this idea and ran with it. She covered only

the areas on the screen that were cloudy with a variety of characters to

pinpoint the problem. It looked like a spell done with mystic ruins.

The next day Mabel showed me her screen and it was apparent that

the clouds were moving away. Yesterday they were almost gone

and in some small way I will miss them. Now Mabel has just another

normal iPhone.  Tonight I will press it to my nose and hope to smell

a tiny bit of pee.

Facebook is Dead

Facebook was an interesting experiment but it's time to move on. I had hoped it would become a place to share ideas and help me hone my opinions but it turns out to be a sophomoric exchange of social fluff. I still believe privacy is important. So the benefit of being connected to friends within this medium is limited.

Tuesday at Dad's

Good Morning Sisters,

What follows is the complete story of my trip to Dad’s.

It’s not broken into parts because of anything extraordinary.

Lori said she liked the way I write, so I thought I'd open a little

window into my brain so you can see how its clock movement ticks.

Tuesday at Dad's

The plan was to leave the house by 9 am and take a nice leisurely drive up to Hang Town.

If time allows, I’d stop by Dedrick’s Cheese and see my old friend MF (Mary Francis).

She’s Lannys cousin.  Maybe buy some good cheese and crackers and say Hi.  But I

guess I was driving too slow and I made a gas stop in Davis and time got away from

me and I had to throw my made up plans out the widow.  On the brighter side of the street,

the car was running fine.  All the tires had the proper pressure and the synthetic

oil I use (Mobil 1) was right up to the top of the stick. “Squared Away”, some say.

On my iPod, I was jumping from Nirvana’s Kurt Cobane, who was claiming

“No I don’t have a gun”, (but of course he did) to my Zen lecture podcasts about

redemption and gratitude.  So what I’m trying to say is that the drive was fine.

I had my work clothes on. Dad and I had been talking about replacing the old kerosene
heater in his living room. It hasn’t worked correctly for years. Dad says when he sets it
to high it runs for a couple of minutes then shuts off for a minute, this cycle continues all
day. When he told me this my face was smiling and my head was nodding yes but in
the back of my mind was a big loud WTF!  This appliance burns fuel oil in your house and
it’s been sputtering along for years, yeah think it might catch fire sometime? This is going
through my mind along with a lot of other clutter when I’m reminded of a fictitious road
sign someone invented.  “Your Own Tedious Thoughts the next 200 Miles.”  Yea, that’s me.

I take the Missouri Flats off ramp from HWY 50 and then hang a left on Pleasant Valley
Road. After a few minutes I see the Diamond Springs Hotel were Dad and Karen have
breakfast almost every morning. It looks cold and uninviting even though the parking lot is
full. I scan the local business signs along the street and wonder if Dad’s been in all of these
unlikely places. I expect he has. The next turn I’m looking for is Bucks Bar Road, it’s
easy to spot because the right turn lane is decorated with a big yellow YIELD sign. It’s
here that I know I’ve found Dad’s House. From this turn I don’t have to go slow and scan
for the next turn.  It’s kind of comforting.  Springer Road comes up quick on the left. I
always wondered if the road was named after a resident on the street (like John Springer)
or his dog.  The old church pops out of the trees on the left. It’s surrounded by rusting
cars and building materials. It raised the surrender flag high years ago but the attack of
decay continues. I always make believe that it’s been restored with its belfry repaired
and a gleaming coat of fresh white paint.  Dad’s turn is coming up next, across the one
lane bridge and just past the row of mismatched mail boxes. Saddlehill Road
(on Witness Hill). Don’t ja just love it.

I’m driving up Dad’s driveway real slow, looking out for all the wild turkeys and deer and

neighborhood dogs. Dad’s house raises on the left and I can’t help but notice again

that the big tree is gone because of some fucking insurance company.  Karen’s

Honda minivan is parked away from Dad’s two Chevy trucks. It’s like the trucks are being

snubbed because the minivan doesn’t want to be seen with these two local yokels.  

I park on the right side of the big tree in the driveway and forget that I’m blocking the

deer that Karen feeds from their water bucket and salt lick.  I don’t see Dad in the

window, I’m a little early where I’m usually a little bit late, so Dad doesn’t have his greeting
face out of the holster yet. I get out of the car and see a big buck looking at me from the
edge of the trees. No Big Fella, I’m not your Food Monkey, like Jeff says on Survivor,

“I’ve got nothing for you.”

I hear the squeak of the screen door and Dad steps out a little shaky with a smile on,
“Hi Rod.” “Hi Dad,” I say. Dad walks through the front door ahead of me and I see the
holes in the green shag carpet on the stairs. The holes are bigger now and the wood
underneath is splintered and look like little teeth. We walk into the kitchen and I greet
Karen while she’s cutting vegetables. She sets down a tray of carrots and celery with a
sour cream and mystery ingredient dip. I push a piece of celery through it and try to identify
the brown material hiding just under the cream.  Dad and Karen, like synchronized
swimmers, light up cigarettes and ask me about the drive. Smoke coils around their
heads and after a moment it sneaks up my nose and starts burning my throat. I realize
Karen is talking but I don’t remember what she said. I’ve been watching her sharp little
tongue race from one side of her mouth to the other, lubricating her lips for the next drag
on her cigarette.“Well anyway,” I hear her say as I exit my fugue.  Zip, zip goes her tongue,
“Well anyway.” I suppress a hysterical giggle as I think, shit, I just got here.  

end of part one

Tuesday at Dad's (part two)

Dad’s Living Room and Kitchen / Dining Room is pretty big.  There are a

few waist high room dividers and a step down from the Kitchen to the

TV area.  I guess this is to give a more grand and spacious feel to the

living area.  Green Shag carpet as far as the eye can see.  All the walls

have big glass windows and the view to the west included a peek at

Mt. Diablo until the trees got too tall.

The kerosene heater we are replacing is a few steps from the TV.  It looks

so small in the big room.  It would be Baby Bear in the story of the Three Bears.

I asked Dad if the new heater was bigger, with more BTU’s.  I don’t know what a

BTU is but it sounds like an intelligent question.  “No” he says, “it’s the same size.“

So, I’m thinking maybe it’s the same make, and all the pipes and conduits are

in the same places and all we will have to do is unplug the old one and slide

in the new.  “No”, he says, “the new ones completely different.”  He tells me

he bought the new one five years ago and it’s been in their laundry room

facing the wall (like a bad little bear) all this time. “Karen’s going to be happy

to have this out of her way!”  Yeah, I’m guessing. 

Dad and I duck walk the new five year old unit out of the laundry room and

I see a big dent in the sheet metal near the floor.  I’m thinking it looks like

someone has been kicking it.  Dad sees the dent, “Yeah, the warranty expired

on the new heater a long time ago.”  I’m hoping that all the little rubber fittings

inside that keep everything “Squared Away” have not also expired.  

I blow a little air out of my mouth and continue to duck walk our dented baby bear

out to the step down living room.

Dad has me disconnect the old heater.  There was a question on what we should use

to catch any stray fuel oil that might leak out of the unit.  Karen seemed to have a

complete conversation on the topic without any interference from us.  Her diatinations*

were punctuated with cute stories about her grandchildren which included references to
people real or imagined.  I didn’t listen to a lot of it.  Dad was trying to keep her focused
on finding us an old piece of Tupperware.  Once this hurtle was crossed, I aligned the
plastic container under the fuel intake and spun off the nut holding the copper fuel pipe.
I was rewarded with a dribble of red fuel oil and made the mistake of saying, “I didn’t
know kerosene was red.” This launched Dad into reciting the complete history of fuel
oil including Diesel #1 and Diesel #2, truck driving and federal taxation. Red fuel oil
(in Dad’s mind) was a blight on American Society. The red dye clogged up the works
and was a result of poor governing.  I was pretty sure Dad would work this around to
President Obama but given Dad’s age I think he just ran out of gas.

The instructions for installing the new heater were on the kitchen counter.  Dad and I
read them  like a comic book, we looked at the pictures and decided two heads were
better than one set of Chinese instructions.  Then, for the next two hours we argued the
various merits of our strategies to connect the two little pipes that funneled the hot
exhaust through the wall to the outside.It’s just two little pipes, and there was probably
a picture in the instruction book comic but we had variables the Chinese had never
dreamed of.   And there was the other problem of how far the heater would sit from
the wall.  Dad wanted it tight, not code.He wanted it snuggled into the corner of the
room like the old heater. Dad was shooting for the perfect balance of function and form
for his new dented five year old and under sized heater. He said, “I want it right, I’ll be
looking at it for the next 10 years.” 

Dad called a time out and asked for a cigarette break.  I don’t know why he couldn’t
smoke while I was working.  I guess he got tired managing the project. Karen kept
asking me if I wanted something to eat.  Dad kept offering me alcohol, “We’ve got beer
and wine and Bourbon,” he said.  It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon and I seldom drink
anything during the day but I got the feeling Dad just didn’t want to drink alone.  Karen
with her need to feed piped in with “We have Ice Cream!”  So portraying

my most peckish** behavior I said that would be just fine, a little Ice Cream ……….
and beer.   I’ll pretend I’m 9 and this offer is a culinary watershed.  Karen, seeing an
opening for even more feeding ticks off every item they have in the refrigerator.  I pretend
that everything she offers me is Pickles and try hard not to watch her smoke. “Pickles
Rod?,” “No Thanks Karen,”  “Pickles?”  “I can wait til dinner.” “I got these pickles for
your Dad from my friend Caroline who use to work at……………………….

I have to pee, you know, from the beer.  This means I have to use the bathroom.  Even
when I prepare myself, the bathroom is a shock.  I need to photograph it before I die.
The color scheme is RED, not lowercase red like pink or mauve, this is Fire Engine
RED, RED counter with RED wallpaper and a RED heart shaped candy box on the counter
with a vase of RED plastic roses.  Entering the bathroom is like taking hallucinogens, If you
have ever read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas you get the idea.  I try to keep my eyes
shut as I Braille myself across the room.   I’m unhitching my pants to make short work of

it.   I find the toilet and sit down to pee.  My head hurts a little from the beer and my throat
burns from the cigarette smoke.  I stand to pull up my pants and have a nasty moment when
I look into the toilet bowl.  The water is red.  Either I’m bleeding or have been transported to
a bad Dean Koontz novel. Then it dawns on me that Dad’s water is red, because his well
water is iron red.  I blow a little fart.

I zip and examine the front of my pants, I can see the final drop was a damn leak thru.
Use to be a good shake followed by a wipe would dry things right up but not now.  Now
you got to drip dry.  Shit….. am I going to have to wear one of those pee pee panty liners
someday?  I see on the TV that they can make them extra thin.  I’m hoping by that time
I’ll be so damn demented that I’ll just make believe I’m an Astronaut. I’ll be proudly wearing
my motorcycle helmet and panty liners around the common area of the make believe

Old Folks Astronaut School.  With the right TANG, I’ll be flying to the mooooooooooon.

end of part 2

Tuesday at Dad’s (last part)

I exit the bathroom and brush off my clothes like I’ve got bits of something on me.   Then
I give my sweater a pull to cover the pee stain.  I’m starting to itch.  Karen’s fixing dinner.
She’s got a two handed death grip on the biggest tri-tip I’ve ever seen.  I’m thinking it
must have come from a water buffalo or a small dinosaur. She drops it on the grill that’s
built into the kitchen counter island. “How do you like your meat ,” she asks. The big steak
starts to sizzle and I expect to be washed in the aroma of cooking meat but all I smell is
cigarette smoke.  “Medium is good,” I reply.  “Your Dad likes his well done.”  Karen lifts
the lid of a cooking pot from the grill and exposes the uncooked side of the steak.  It’s red
and raw and I think about the animal it came from. I have a vision of good mommies
teaching their evil little babies to eat meat.  Little babies eating meat. Of course I try to push
this out of my mind.  I don’t want to spoil my dinner.

Dad and I fix the last details of the installation into our heads. We can see where the air
vent will go thru the wall and how the fuel line will run to the fuel input. Time to execute
our plan. This requires a 16 foot ladder, the exhaust pipe, the mounting flanges for outside
and some goo.  We set the ladder up for a dry run, the exhaust pipe has to couple

with its inside twin and the whole assembly has to be pointed slightly down hill so rain water
will not run into the house. We have to expand the hole thru the wall a little bit and then apply
caulk to the inside of the flange that seals to hole on the outside of the house.  Dad’s inside
with his part of the pipe, I’m outside on the ladder. We push the pieces together until they
meet. We screw them around to take out the slack. I push the flange against the wall that’s
covered in goo.  We screw the pieces together a bit more and it’s done!  Really.

It’s getting dark and we still need to connect the fuel line. I can tell Dad’s getting tired.  I
want to see this thru but I’m not going to push him if he’s done for the day. Karen calls us
in for dinner and we eat like adults at the dining room table.  We have dinosaur Tri-tip and
baked potatoes, salad and garlic bread. It’s very good.  Karen sees I’m scratching a lot and

asks about it. I tell her I’ve got hives that may be due to stress and she wants to know what
my doctor is doing about it. I laugh and tell her about my MD, Dr. Dudler.  He’s an old soviet
trained doctor with few social skills. He has very little sympathy for anything I complain
about. My sister Karen told me once that her Doctor will proscribe morphine for a stubbed
toe. I could walk into Dr. Dudler's office with my finger cut off and he’d tell me to scotch tape
it back on and take an aspirin. “We treated worst things than this with less in the Gulag,” I
can hear him say.  So Dad asks me why I don’t find another Doctor. “Well, it’s because he
has so few patients I can always get right in to see him!”  Dad laughs like this is funny and I
guess it is.

Karen lures wildlife in close to the house with food.  A small herd of deer, a rafter of turkeys
and a leash of foxes. Deer and turkeys we have in abundance around our house in Pleasant
Hill, but foxes?  I’ve never seen a fox in the wild. I did see something bound across the road
far ahead of me one day in the car. It wasn’t a dog and it wasn’t a coyote and the coloring
and size later seemed to suggest it was a fox.  But Dad and Karen claimed that if I was quiet
and persistent I might see a fox off their deck just after sunset. Karen scatters tri-tip and
potatoes under the flood lamps off the back porch and within minutes, there are no foxes. 

Dad and I carry the old heater off the living room battlefield and down the stairs to the
game room. This old heater will never feel the fire burning bright inside again. It will soon
be facing the wall in some dark corner of the garage before it is disposed of.  Dad and
I walk into the basement that looks under the outside deck and into the fox lure.  And
there is a fox, creeping like a cat into the light. I hold my breath and go still.  It’s close
and walking towards us.  It’s bigger than what I imagined with the most magnificent gray
fur. Each hair is thick and needle sharp and standing straight out from its body. 

It’s eyes are calm but always glancing back to the shadows. It’s tail is nearly the length
of its body and as thick as its neck. For me this is a mystical moment, completely new
and unexpected and as I’m committing this moment to memory a second fox slowly
crosses into the light.  It stands next to the first in perfect symmetry.  A little smaller it
must be the female. Every hair a perfect point.  The pair look at us behind the glass,
they appraise us with their eyes and sniff the air.  We have been judged acceptable this night
as they eat the scraps of food. Quickly they find each morsel then turn and bind together
with the darkness. How lucky I am.

We don’t finish the project but Dad assures me he can knock it out tomorrow in short
order.  It’s getting late and I need to get on the road so I can be home before I start nodding
at the wheel.  I start the “Good Bye” process because I know this social ritual will not be
made to order.  Dad and Karen acknowledge that I need to be on my why and ask if I would
like some water or coffee or perhaps Karen can find one more opportunity to feed me before
I start my long trip across the foothills and the central valley.  Dad and Karen settle back in
their chairs at the counter and each light up a cigarette.  I stay standing. Karen is explaining
about a disease that affects all her children and this brings to Dad’s mind a movie he once
saw with George C. Scott but Karen says her favorite actor was Robert Mitchum and
around it goes for half an hour.  I have a smile on my face and my head is nodding yes and
I’m happy I came.  They finally release me and I grab my gear.  As Dad and I walk out the
front door he cautions me about the loose stairs.  I get in the car and start it up. Dads
standing in the cold and will stay there until I wave and drive away.  I put the car in drive
and look at Dad in the rear view mirror.  I raise my hand as he raises his. It’s dark as I
pull down the driveway and turn left at the mailboxes. I drive slow with my headlights on
low.  I think of the foxes and wish for their safety. I think of the new stove and hope
Dad gets it installed before his box of firewood is empty. I think of how long it has been
since I’ve said my little prayer to our ancestors.  I decide it’s been too long so
I recite it in my head.

Ancestors, I call to you.

I acknowledge you and thank you for your sacrifice.   

And I recite the names of all our family from the past. 

end