The Gravy Incident

Henrietta, Texas, February, 1963: I'd been to classes in Midwestern University, but instead of coming home I'd visited with Bill and Dennis, so I'd missed supper. In some families, I suppose that would mean I didn't get to eat, but my mother had kept food to make me a plate. Though she was a great cook, roast beef usually came out a bit dry. However, I was crazy about the rice and gravy that always rode along.

The gravy still sat in an odd-shaped heavy aluminum pot on the rear of the stove. She dished up roast beef, green beans, and rice, and started to pour gravy on top, as is proper. I held up my hand.

"That gravy's not hot," I said. She looked at me.

"Yes, it is," she said.

"No," I said, shaking my head, "it's not."

"The gravy," she said, "is hot."

"No," I insisted, "I can tell." She paused, then pointed to the stainless steel sink beside the stove.

"Hold your finger out," she said, "just over the sink."

Calling her bluff, I held my finger out over the sink. She grabbed the heavy pot and moved toward my hand, then paused. I held my hand steady, looking at her.

She glanced at me, and then poured some gravy over my finger.

Ow! It was hot! It burned like crazy!

The Story of Benny

Some years ago, in Chicago, lived a petty hoodlum named Benny, a miserable fellow, who never had a girlfriend, was always coughing with a cold, and was always broke.

So it was that, pawing through a trashcan, he was surprised to find a small and ornate urn, because he seldom had good fortune. He took it home to his hovel, and was rubbing the dust off, when -- poof! -- in a puff of smoke appeared a genii!

"You have three wishes," the genii said, "but there's a condition."

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Baring All

Near Hurnville, Texas, 1949: My mother's birthday came in the summertime, and we drove to my Grandparents' farm, eight miles north of town, for cake and a visit. I was playing on the piano in the parlor, when I heard the sound of cars arriving out front.

Peeking through the window, I saw Uncle Dick and Uncle Eugene unfolding from their cars, and my mother greeting them with a kiss. But then Uncle Eugene called out, "Say! You know that today is Maggie's birthday?"

Uncle Dick said, "That's right!" and grabbed my mother.

And then they spanked her!

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Mount Shasta

Mount Shasta, California, Yesterday: At 17,000 feet, the mountain towers above the range, the last of summer's snows shading its flanks above the treeline.

The roads pass by to the west and south. There are no roads to the north and east.

To the south, McCloud is an old mill town nestling in the trees. The mill bosses paid no attention to the view, and just lined up the smaller houses on a grid, but from all the yards the mountain looms overhead. The managers homes, further up the slope, are reluctantly grand rustic victorians beneath the trees.

If you follow the road around the mountain you come to Mount Shasta City.

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Law 23 of Importance and Urgency

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

It is surprisingly easy to overlook what is important for what seems urgent.

That's it.

What is urgent usually comes to our attention in the context of other people, work in progress, deadlines, and conflicting time demands.

What is important usually comes to our attention either when we are relaxed and thinking clearly about our lives, without interruption. Or, sadly, sometimes what is important comes shockingly to mind when we've just lost something important, probably because we failed to think about it.

If you spend your days stamping out forest fires, because they are urgent, and neglect what is important, then life can tend to be filled with urgencies, and little of importance. Reward urgent and you get more of it. Take time for important, and you'll have more of what you really want. And the lovely thing is that you get to choose.

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

Paul's Sweethearts

Henrietta, Texas: In our town, perhaps the grandest house belonged to Paul Hawkins, where he lived with his wife and three pretty daughters: Paula, Shiela, and Kay.

The house was grand because Paul was the town's Undertaker.

Much of that grand house was for storing bodies, preparing bodies, and holding services for bodies. At my grandmother's service, my stern-faced grandfather broke down. "Maud! Maud!" He called her name over and over, reaching out for her. It was wrenching, having to draw him away. His mind had been addled by a fall from the horse; that was a part of her death, but that's another story.

With compassion and with grace, Paul Hawkins dealt with such things. A thin, hyper-active fellow, he'd also turned the extensive once-stables behind the house into a shop, and restored antique furniture. I don't think he needed the money; I think he needed to always stay busy.

And so, his entry in the Pioneer Reunion ...

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Moviola

San Anselmo, California: Today I have a great big truck. It is mighty and it is bright yellow. Tomorrow I'm packing Megatars, shop tools, voicemail equipment, many computers, and a ton or two of books into the great big truck.

On Saturday, I am driving the great big truck, up to the great big mountains, where Adrienne and I will be living in our new house on the side of Mount Shasta. Hanging out with a volcano always seemed like a good idea to me, where the pines are thick, and the air is clean.

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Law 23 of Earning Money

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

How much you have actually "earned" is how much you have still got.

That's it.

Nearly all humans today are confused on this simple fact, partly because other folks wanting to sell things have confused us with bogus concepts such as "investing" in a new gadget which of course is not an investment in any sense of the word, bur rather just a way for us to lose our money to them.

If you worked for five years mowing lawns and hauling garbage to the dump, and you earned a whole bunch of money and gave every dollar to other people, what have you actually "earned" from your five years of labor?

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The Country Club

Henrietta, Texas, 1949: If you drive north out of town, the road curves clockwise around the dam of the water reservoir, and after a sharp left turn crosses the bridge. This is the place where a car-owning teenager must determine how fast he can drive around that corner.

In my high school years, Wayne Klein's souped-up 1955 Mercury held the record. In the movies, all teenagers have souped up hot rods, but the average teenager knows nothing about motors, and doesn't know how to change the oil, much less how to "soup up" a car. Besides, what does soup have to do with it?

Wayne's car was actually souped up, because his father had souped it, and it ran like a bat out of hell, so Wayne could drive that curve at 55 miles an hour. Since the posted sign says "25", this was a wonderful accomplishment. And, unlike unfortunate Beckham Guthrie Jr., Wayne wasn't even killed.

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Cousin Bruce in North Beach

Grant and Green, San Francisco, 1974: While I was living in the apartment from hell in North Beach, I called my cousin Bruce again.

He said that he knew that apartment building, because he'd once been abducted there.

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A House Not Bought

San Francisco, 1989: After selling the answering service, after my adventures as a private investigator, I'd finally given up the office flat at 3304 Geary Boulevard and was running Action800 voicemail company from a small office in our flat on Lyon street.

The flat was built into a garrett beneath the roof, four floors up, on the corner of Lyon and Oak. Our high kitchen windows overlooked Panhandle Park, and each year we'd awake one morning to the sound of thousands of runners passing on the Bay to Breakers race, and each year on another day we'd awake to see the stage of the San Francisco Mime Troupe. From our high windows front and back we could see the high tops of the victorian houses around us. Janice Joplin had lived in the blue house across the street, once upon a time.

From my tiny office, however, the windows opened only to show the roof of the next house, perhaps six feet away. An occasional gull walked the roof. Not much to see.

But in this room I discovered a house.

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The UFO

Henrietta, Texas, 1949: Because my mother worked as a nurse for my Uncle Doc, I spent the day at Mrs. Miller's house, along with her boys Rex and Mike.

As I recall, that day we'd had a lunch of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee, or it might have been balony sandwiches, and we'd looked at an old copy of Life magazine, which contained pictures from a movie called King Kong. It was about a really big gorilla, and we boys were pretty impressed.

We'd run around all day and were quiet now, at perhaps 2 in the afternoon, when we heard the neighbor lady call out.

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Law 23 of Human Limits

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

There is no limit to anything in the Physical Universe except for one thing: Your time.

That's it.

What is the limit of what a human can accomplish? The only limit is what the human can consider as possible. That is, if you can perceive the possibility, then the possibility exists. Simply put, this means that the only limit imposed upon you absolutely would be the limits of the Physical Universe.

Is there a limited amount of money in the Physical Universe? Not really. For all practical purposes, the possible amount is unlimited. Likewise there is no limit to the amount of land, water, sportscars, wine, women, songs, books you could write, or houses you could build.

Is there anything that absolutely limits you? You bet. There is only so much time in your life. Not one second more. And the funny part is: you never know in advance exactly how much there is. Isn't that a riot?

The strength of a chain is determined by its weakest link. The richness of a lifetime is determined by its most limited resource. That resource is the time alloted you. Add it up, and wisdom suggests: Make every moment matter.

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

The Bear Went Over the Mountain

San Anselmo: The Boernings have returned from Mount Shasta. I will report more details soon. Suffice it here to say: I have seen the mountain, and it is good.

Law 23 of Making Offers

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

If your offer sounds good, the human will wonder what's wrong with it?

That's it.

It's human nature to worry if an offer sounds good. Since you know they're going to do that, make up a "downside", and make this downside clear in your offer. Anyone reading your offer will find this vastly reassuring.

For example, if you rent cars for less than the best-known brand, you might say something like, "We're only number two, so we try harder." In this successful ad from the 50's, Avis pointed out that they were not number one. It was a drawback, freely offered, a part of the headline. Readers of magazines stopped, and thought, and decided that they didn't care about Avis's drawback, being second. Readers concluded that the downside didn't matter, and then went out and, greatly reassured that they knew the reason for the lower price, rented Avis's cars by the thousands.

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

How to Save Time with Abbreviations

Here's a handy tip that can yield big savings:

Use abbreviations. For example, when I operated Network Answering Service in San Francisco, we quickly learned to develop standard abbreviations for common things people say. For example, OOT for "out of town", or WCB for "will call back".

Other handy abbreviations include PLSC for "please call", NA for "not applicable", DBA for "doing business as", DA for "doesn't answer", and OCS for "onward christian soldiers".

But why limit this to written notes? For example, suppose you want to thank somebody for something, but it's just a little thing. You want to thank them a little but not a lot. To communicate this precisely, and to save time at the same time, just abbreviate "Thank you" or "Thanks".

Say: "Thank."

See, that's less than "Thanks."

But wait, there's more!

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Eddy Frank

Lulu Johnson Elementary School, Henrietta, Texas, 1953: In the third grade, Eddy Frank was a big hit with Susan J. For reasons I could not comprehend, she favored him above other, more attractive boys, such as, for example, myself.

Susan had invented a wonderful game, and Eddy Frank knew just how to play it.

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My Seashell Collection

Some visitors may not know that I collect seashells. My collection is quite extensive. In fact, it's so large that I cannot store my seashells at my house, and so I store my seashells on various beaches around the world. Perhaps you have seen some of them.

Remote Controleum, Northern California

Adrienne and I will be scouting Northern California for a few days, investigating to locate a new site you might say. But fear not! Portions of this program have been previously pre-recorded. I will return to wondering what to say on the 17th. As always, your comments are welcome.

Literary Bar Jokes

Excerpt from iowablog, stolen outright for your enjoyment. And now, the jokes ...

Charles Dickens: Please, sir, I'd like a martini.
Bartender: Sure thing. Olive or twist?

James Joyce: I'll take a Guinness.
Bartender: So Charles Dickens was in here yesterday.
James Joyce: (drinks)
Bartender: And he asked for a martini and I said, "Olive or twist?"
James Joyce: (drinks)
Bartender: You see, it's funny because he wrote a book called "Oliver Twist."
James Joyce: What a crappy joke.

Ernest Hemingway: Gin.
Bartender: So Charles Dickens was in here two days ago.
Ernest Hemingway: Joyce already told me that story.

Franz Kafka: I'd like a mineral water.
Bartender: Olive or twist?
Franz Kafka: I can't digest solid food.

Mark Twain: Give me a brandy.
Bartender: So Charles Dickens came in the other day and ordered a martini.
Mark Twain: Did he take an olive or twist? Ha ha ha!
Bartender: (tearful) You did that on purpose, didn't you?

Virginia Woolf: I'll take your second-best cognac and unadulterated experience.
Bartender: We don't have that. This is a bar.
Virginia Woolf: Patriarchy! (drowns)

The Sleuthhound Club

Henrietta, Texas, 1955: The kids on our block were Donny Burkman and his younger brother John, myself, my older friend Jerry Lefevre and his younger brother Larry and toddler Mary. So it was natural that we boys formed the club.

The sleuthhound club featured a flag, on which artistic Jerry had copied a picture of Droopy the dog from a comic book. On this flag, Droopy wore a Sherlock Holmes deer-stalker cap and carried a large magnifying glass. Now that was a sleuth hound for sure.

John, being too young, was naturally excluded. This made the club even better, because not everybody could be in it. That was the cause of the trouble.

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Law 23 of Savings and Earnings

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

It is more profitable to save money than to earn more money.

That's it.

Whenever you earn money there is a certain amount of drag and cost. An example of drag might be government forms. Suppose you sell more retail merchandise. In that case you'll have to do some additional work calculating, collecting, banking, reporting, remitting, and bookkeeping the additional sales tax as part of your forced labor on behalf of your state, so that for every new earned dollar you must labor.

An example of cost might be your cost of goods. Suppose you sold more groceries or birdhouses or teddybears. For each one you sell, you must purchase the groceries or birdhouses or teddybears, so that each newly earned dollar has some cost.

But suppose that, instead of selling more stuff, you found a way to save. For example, getting a cheaper supplier, doing manufacturing with a less costly process, or shipping it more cheaply. In that case, each dollar drops directly into your pocket, with no drag nor cost. That's why saving money is usually more profitable than earning more money.

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

Lost at the Ford

San Anselmo, California: Last weekend Adrienne and I had a hard talk. For us, talking about money is usually difficult. I've learned my lessons very slowly, and so only in recent years am I trying to be smarter, learning the lessons better learned at 30 than at 59. Adrienne, younger, seems even slower; and so we struggle.

She agreed, however, that the only possible way to have wealth is to (a) live below your means, however modest that might be, so that you can (b) siphon off some money, and (c) with these funds purchase assets which will bring you money without working.

For example, buying a rental house. Purchasing stocks or bonds paying dividends. Owning some sort of copyright or patent that can be leased. In other words, going from paying interest to collecting interest.

So then yesterday, after a mysterious 'going shopping' trip with daughter Lilah, she arrives home, having purchased a nice new car. I've now been physically ill for 24 hours.

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The Dreadful Goatee

San Francisco, 1975: For a year my life was really slow and relaxed. I was collecting unemployment, starting to get some bookkeeping clients, and reading about magic and meditation.

I lived cheaply, and grew a goatee. On Sundays, I'd ride my red Schwin 10-speed in the park with a girlfriend. We'd picnic. I have a photograph that shows the goatee. That day while slowing to a stop, I'd been unable to pull my foot free of the toe clip, and fell over, toward my front wheel. Not wanting to bend the spokes, I'd placed my hand onto the spindle of the axel, which, being pointed, had poked a hole in my hand. In the photo, I am dabbing at my hand with a kleenex and wearing a rueful expression. And, of course, my goatee.

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The Bottle Rockets

Near Hurnville, Texas, 1954: At my grandparents' farm, I had firecrackers, because in town there was an old hardware and general store run by Grover Thaxton. An ancient holdover from the 1800's, the store had a dirt floor, and glass-topped cases in a long, narrow U-shape running from the front into the dimness inside. Along the side walls, cabinets reached to the ceiling, and the goods were retrieved with a ladder.

Grover Thaxton's store was already old when my mother's generation was young. One Halloween long before I was born, my young mother and her pals Billie Jane and Sara Moyer sat with beers and friends in Grover's kitchen, waiting for the annual attempt on Grover's outhouse. "Here they come, Grover!" they whisper as they spied the hooligans creeping near.

They'd wait till the boys turned over the outhouse, and were running away, and then Grover would burst from the back door with his shotgun.

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The Christmas Present

Newport Beach, California, December 1985: Taking the Startel job was a colossal blunder. It's very clear now, but not then. All women wish to be loved, cherished, and protected. I was married to Lori, but I failed miserably to show that I cherished her, and I failed to protect her.

And it brought me the most painful days in my life.

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It's Your Tree

San Francisco, 1980: I shanghai'd Richard W. and Derek S. to help me move from the third floor at 495 Third Avenue. I'd just rented the new office on Geary Boulevard for Network Answering Service, and I was going to live there in the back room.

When Derek showed up, he was yellow-colored.

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