Joey Gibson's Blog

Archive for the ‘life’ Category

As I said earlier today, my buddy Tim and I went hiking on Saturday and ended up spending much time at Lula Lake. You can see pictures from that excursion in the previous entry. (The first of the pictures are from Cloudland Canyon. The pics from Lula Lake begin with the rocks in the river that actually contained water.) Below are two videos of the beauty at Lula Lake. The first I took standing directly next to the cliff edge at the top of the falls. The second was taken from across the lake, looking at the falls and the surrounding cliff. If that place were on my property, I don’t think you could pry me away.

My buddy Tim and I went hiking this past Saturday. We went to Cloudland Canyon, which is up in North Georgia, near Chattanooga. We spent about 2.5 hours there, scaling the 600 step staircase, looking at the almost-completely-dry waterfalls and the nearly-devoid-of-water creeks and looking for the I-know-it’s-here-somewhere-dangit geocache, placed there by the GA parks service. We never found the cache, but vowed to return when there is water around, since one of the clues to finding it depended on there being water. Doesn’t everything?

After the hike there, which was beautiful and fun, don’t get me wrong, we inquired of Ranger Amy if there were any falls nearby that had, you know, some water in them. She told of us about one that wasn’t too far, but then she said, “Wait, maybe Lula Lake. It’s beautiful, but they aren’t open all the time. Let me call them for you.” A few minutes later, she told us that they were open, and we definitely needed to go. She gave us a map (which we quickly discovered was not to scale), drew “about where” it was on this map, and wished us good luck. We got back into my car, and headed out.

After about 45 minutes of “wast that the turn?” and “do you think we just missed it?” we finally found the proper turnings, and ultimately made it to the entrance. If you were not looking for it, you would have missed it. If you were looking for it, you still could have missed it, since there was nothing but hand-written paper signs, peeling and twisting with the sun and heat.

Anyway, we drove down the somewhat perilous (for a car) drive and found that we were not alone in our quest. There were probably 50 or more cars in the parking area. It’s free to be there, but they ask for donations, since it’s a private land trust. They gave us a map, told us the easiest way to get to the lake and falls and sent us on our way.

I should pause here to relate our Big Mistake™ for the day. Ranger Amy had told us that getting to the falls at Lula Lake was “easy” and would probably only take “ten or fifteen minutes.” Thus, as we got out of my car, we both decided to leave our water packs in the trunk. Please keep that in the back of your mind as you read on. Tim also decided to leave his trekking pole, but I took mine. Now, let’s continue.

We started out walking down the gravel road, but when hiking, “paved” roads sort of seem like cheating to me, so we took the first trail off the road we found, the “Ford Trail,” which began with fording a stream. It was easy, and nobody got wet. We then started following this trail, which essentially paralleled the river. It did not parallel the river in terms of altitude, going up and down, over and over. This trail ultimately rejoined the paved road at a bridge, just above the falls. We walked to the very precipice of the falls and looked over. Wow. What a view. We were standing at the edge of a cliff, about thirty feet above one of the most beautiful lakes I’ve ever seen. It had stunningly green water and was surrounded on one side by a bowl-shaped cliff. The water looked deep at the bottom of the falls, and it was just begging us to jump in. We did not.

We then got back to the paved road and walked a little farther so we could get to the lake proper. This place was gorgeous. I wanted to swim, but I didn’t have trunks, there were other people around and there were big signs saying swimmers would be prosecuted. All three conspired to keep me from swimming.

Farther down the paved road was the second falls. We were’t able to get very close to this one, but it was at least one hundred feed tall. There wasn’t a whole lot of water going over it, but the sound it make when hitting the bottom was impressive. I wish we could have gotten closer, but neither of us could see how we could. We did see some people at the very bottom of this falls, but the trail we found that went down was really steep, and neither of us wanted to have to come back up that way, so we took a pass.

A short way farther down the paved road, we came to the end of the property and a slightly trail-like spur off to the right. Tim checked the map and based on the topo lines, it looks like it would be pretty steep in places. We decided to double back a ways to the “somewhat more gentle” trail we had seen that would still get us to the top of the ridge, just “more gently.” But as we started to leave the spur behind, my curiosity got the best of me and I said, “You know, I’m probably going to regret this, but I sort of want to know what this trail is like.” (Or something close to that. The next hour is a bit fuzzy at times.) So we headed on to the slightly trail-like spur.

Within just a few minutes, the trail got steeper and I started huffing and puffing as my legs began to complain loudly to me about what I was asking them to do. I continued on, with Tim about ten feet or so ahead of me. At one point, I looked back to where we had come from and saw that we had already ascended quite a bit, and that I really didn’t want to try to go back down that way. The only way for us to go, realistically, was up. And so we continued.

Another twenty minutes or so later we came to the “So, You Think You’re A Man” stage of the ascent. I like to call this section the, “How the F@#k Am I Supposed To Get Up There‽” section of the trail. The land owners had generously hung sturdy ropes with knots in them to assist you in your climb (yes, climb, this was no longer a hike), and we used these ropes to good use. Tim made it up first, of course, and after I made it up the second of three ropes, I tossed him my pole, because it was a hindrance at this point. I pulled myself up the final rope, cursing and spitting all the way. Now, I should mention that the trail leading up to this had been getting more and more narrow, with drops of twenty to thirty feet should you misstep. And this bit with the ropes was just crazy. My point is that we were facing a bit of actual danger, and I don’t know that either of us realized it until we were mostly through it.

Once past the ropes, we assumed that we were at the top, and there wouldn’t be any more vertical to worry about. We were wrong, but it wasn’t horrible. I was still thankful when we finally did make it to the top, and the trail got nice and flat. Up on top, there was a field, and some pik-nik tables. We spoke with some nice folks who had taken the sensible route up, and warned some others who were heading in the direction from which we came about the steepness of what they were heading toward. They all seemed grateful. The views of the valley below from way up here were lovely, and I took several photos.

But what I really, really, wanted was some water. Of course, since we were both dumb-asses, we had left it in the car. Remember the Big Mistake™? So I debated on whether or not it would be considered gauche to ask some other hiker for a sip of the water that they so smartly brought with them. I didn’t ask the nice couple up top, nor did I ask the next two or three people we saw. But finally, I saw a guy with a huge bottle of water that was clearly frozen in the middle. That meant ice cold water, which would feel so good. We greeted him, and then I said something like, “Excuse me um you see we didn’t think we were going to be out here so long and so we left our water in the car and I hate to ask and everything but if you could would you mind terribly much if I could have just a small swig of your water please?” He smiled and handed me the bottle. I wanted to wrap my lips around the bottle and drain every non-frozen drop (like Homer when Moe told him the beer taps had run dry), but I restrained myself and just poured a bit into the palm of my left hand. As I expected this water was the absolute best water I had ever tasted. It was cold and refreshing, and just that small amount was enough to revive me. And to keep my lips from sticking to my teeth, which had been impairing conversation.

We walked about a mile on the top of the ridge, and then started our descent. This was not terribly steep, but after a while, my legs began complaining again. I just ignored them. We were heading back down and that’s all that mattered. We finally made it back to the parking area, and went to task the people in the tent about the lake. It’s a natural lake, which is why the water doesn’t look like chocolate milk as most Georgia lakes do, and is around thirty to forty feet deep. In case you were wondering. He also said the dark discoloration on the rock was from where they used to wash coal there, since the whole area used to be a coal mine.

We ended up spending about 3.5 hours at Lula Lake, longer than we spent at Cloudland Canyon, and we had water then!

So, to sum up. Cloudland Canyon is beautiful, but it really needs moving water. Ranger Amy said March is quite nice. Lula Lake is sublimely beautiful and I would recommend it to anyone who likes to look at natural beauty. If you stay on the paved road, it really would be about a fifteen minute walk from the parking area.

And remember this: if you have a water bottle/water pack, take it with you, even if you think you’re only going to be there for a short while. You will thank me for this later. Trust me.

Yesterday I played hooky from church, and my buddy Tim and I headed up to the North Georgia mountains for a bit o’ hiking. Tim’s been doing this a lot, but this was my first time, and it was great fun. We hiked Raven Cliff Falls, which was a five mile round-trip, then had some lunch, and then stopped by Tallulah Gorge State Park. I was completely bushed by this time, so we just walked to the easy-to-get-to overlooks, and then called it a day. I had so much fun, I’m ready to do it again. :-)

Here are a few of the better pictures I took during the day.

Here are some of the pictures I took while in Myrtle Beach last weekend. Some are pretty good. Some, not so much. We had a wonderful time, and are seriously considering going back at the end of this summer. That’s how much fun we had. :-)

We went to Myrtle Beach, SC, last weekend and had a wonderful time. I have lots of pictures that I’ll be posting to Flickr very soon. I just got back from getting my waterproof, single-use camera developed, and there are a few shots in there that might show up, too.

In the meantime, here’s a complete and total summation of our entire trip. I shot this video within about an hour of our arrival, and the whole vacation was one great moment after another.

The Original Satellite Spigot

A couple of years ago, I built the device shown in the photo on the right. It’s an extension to our back yard garden hose, which is down 15 stairs, up to the deck. That project didn’t take any time at all, and has worked nicely. This year, my wife wanted a similar device in the front yard. The reason it was necessary can be seen in figures 2 and 3. We have some unruly bushes that make it extremely difficult to get to the spigot. I decided to create another of my satellite spigots right next to the stairs on the front porch, which would make it very easy to use the hose.

This project started about two months ago. I went to Lowe’s to get the parts, but didn’t feel like building it that day, so I put it of for a few weeks. When I finally did get around to building it, it was one problem after another. First, there was a problem with the coupling between the hose and the galvanized pipe. That allowed me to procrastinate another couple of weeks. This past Saturday, I went to Lowe’s again to get a new coupling. I brought it home, re-taped the galvanized pipe’s threads and attached the coupling. I then attached the hose to the coupling and turned on the water. Immediately it began spewing from somewhere around the coupling. Upon closer inspection, I could see that the leak was actually in the hose. It turns out that the brass end of the hose is not a single piece of metal. It’s actually two pieces crimped together, and in my zeal to make the connections as tight as possible, I had broken that seal.

Sunday, I went to Lowe’s, again, to get a new male hose-end to fix it. I also had to re-buy the metal straps I had bought to attach it to its pole, because in the weeks since my last attempt I had lost them. (And those were not the original metal straps, either. The first ones I bought were far too large…) After I got home, I cut off the last 2 inches or so of the hose with a serrated bread knife attached the new male end, screwed it into the coupling; tight, but not too tight. Then it was time to test it out. Again.

Huzzah! It works! No leaks!

After getting the seals right, all that was left was to attach it to the metal pole I had driven into the ground. That went quickly, and the project was finally complete.

I just got back from an estate sale in my neighborhood. The people whose belongings were being sold were an elderly couple who lived just around the corner from me. I never met them, but I knew who they were. They both appeared to be quite old, but both were always working in their yard to keep it immaculate. They always had something blooming, no matter the season.

And now they’re gone. The gentleman passed away some time last year; I don’t know the details of his passing. The wife is still alive, but living in Texas in a “retirement community” near her daughter. I’m told she’s struggling with Alzheimer’s.

And so this weekend her family came to sell off everything that was left of their lives together, in order to get the house ready for sale. I don’t mean to cast aspersions on the family, as I know that these things have to be done, but while I was looking through what was left for sale, I got very sad. Scattered around were all sorts of bits and pieces of their lives that showed what they liked and what they liked to do. The wife, for example, apparently loved to quilt. She had what appeared to be about 30 – 40 years of quilting magazines in the basement. There were numerous pieces of cross-stitch and embroidery on a table, too.

It looked like the husband had been in telecom, as there were spools of wire and loads of antiquated telephone equipment in the basement. There was also a framed award from 1980 presented to him from his employer. One thing of interest to me was a booklet produced by the Travelers insurance company for their employees in 1972, detailing their policies on reimbursement for moving and living expenses. I don’t know which of them worked in insurance.

So what did I pick for myself? I have a thing for food photography from the 1950′s and 1960′s, and there was quite a collection there. I bought an almost-complete set of the Woman’s Day Encyclopedia of Cooking series from 1962; it’s missing the last three volumes. I also bought a 1972 edition of the standard Better Homes & Gardens cookbook (red and white checks) and a cookbook from 1974 called “Favorite Recipes of America’s Home Economics Teachers.” One non-cookbook also made it into my hands. It’s a book called “Papa Was a Preacher,” which was published in 1944. It’s a memoir of the youngest of six children of a rural minister. She wrote the book with the intention of dispelling the myth that being a minister’s child is a joyless existence. What was also neat about this book is that on the copyright page the publisher explained how “Wartime Books” were being printed in ways that conserved paper and copper for the war effort.

So why did this make me sad? I think it’s because these two people spent two lifetimes together collecting all this stuff. Now one is dead, the other can’t be far behind, and all of their things are being scattered in every direction. I know once you’re gone you can’t keep your stuff, and children don’t always want to keep the things of their parents, so I suppose selling it certainly beats throwing it away. Still… I felt sad and somewhat guilty to be picking through their lives.

You simply must see these images. It’s a pictorial of “life” in the “Democratic” Republic of Congo. As in many African countries, long-running civil wars between enemy tribes take an almost unbelievable human toll. The photos in this pictorial show what a truly miserable existence these people have.

The little boy in the photo to the right is eight. He, his mother and seven siblings were attacked with machetes by a militia of the Lendu tribe. He was left for dead in a pile of bodies. His father found him still alive and hid him in the jungle. Later, the same militia found the father and hacked him to death, too. The child now lives in an orphanage with scars to remind him of what happened to his family.

It’s so hard to comprehend, sitting here in comfort in the United States, that suffering like this exists, but I know it does. What can we do to stop it? Can an outside force have an effect, of do we have to wait for those people to have a change of heart? The UN is clearly impotent in situations like these, and the US would be seen as some sort of interloper based on current world opinion, so who can help? Do we simply have to let it continue until one side wins, or both sides lose enough blood?

Chloe’s been gone for three days now and I keep getting hit by reminders of her. I keep walking into various rooms of the house, expecting her to be there and then realizing that she can’t be. I look out in the back yard and know that she’ll never run and bark there again. About five minutes ago I opened a cabinet in the kitchen and saw the bag of dog treats, and now I’m sitting here fighting back tears. 

Damn, this is hard.

Chloe Gibson, 1993 - 2008

Back in 1993 Tammy and I went to PetSmart one day to get some cat food. As we walked in, we noticed that they were doing dog adoptions, so we decided to go over and have a look. We were just looking. They had several cute dogs who all needed a home, but we already had two cats and that was enough. Until I came to the last crate. In it was a small, black Terrier-ish dog with big, brown eyes and an enormous pink bow around her neck. I opened the crate, just to pet her, and when I did, she literally lept into my arms and started licking my face. After a few seconds of this, I turned to look at Tammy through the glass; she was already filling out the adoption paperwork. 

As we talked to the people there (from Friends of Animals, BTW) it turned out that this dog was not supposed to be there that day. Some monster had slowed down on Hwy. 78 (7 lanes) and tossed this beautiful 6 month-old puppy out into traffic. Luckily, some other motorist saw what happened and was able to pick her up before she got hit. This person took her to PetSmart and the FoA people took her. That’s how we ended up with her. 

She was one of the sweetest creatures I’ve ever met. 

About six weeks ago, our vet diagnosed her with cancer. Her lymph nodes around her throat were expanding, and he told us that she had a month, maybe two, at the most. He gave us prednezone to help with the pain, but as old as she was, chemotherapy would most likely kill her. He said to just keep her comfortable.

She did OK for a while, but the last week or so, we could tell the end was near. Her tail didn’t wag as much, she didn’t always eat, and her breathing was getting more labored. Her nodes were so swollen that it felt like she had a bag of marbles under her throat. Getting her to take a pill was always hard, but it was doubly so now. When we could get the pills into her, she would generally have a good day, but not always. Tuesday, she had a great day. She actually played in the yard, nom-nomed her food like nobody’s business,  and generally seemed happy. But yesterday, we knew.

Or rather, we thought. It’s really hard to know when it’s time for that final trip to the vet.

Her breathing had been getting worse all day. She wasn’t resting. She would either walk around, or just stand, with her head pointing up, to make it easier to breathe. Last night around 10:30, Tammy and I talked about what to do, with Chloe just lying there, not really paying attention. She alternated between looking scared and looking totally out of it. We decided it was time.

I called Thomas into the room and told him that I had to take Chloe to the vet, and that she probably wasn’t going to be coming home. Understandably, he didn’t take it well. He’s had three cats, two fish and a snail die on him, and he wasn’t ready to have Chloe leave him, too. After he and Tammy were done saying goodbye, as done as they could be, I bundled Chloe up and took her to the emergency vet. 

After examining her for a couple of minutes, the vet told me that Chloe’s chest was full of fluid and that I probably knew what the answer was. I agreed, sadly, and ten minutes later our Chloe left us.

I believe that she is running, barking and chasing other dogs, cats and bunnies right now, in perfect health and happiness. I believe that after leaving my arms, she was soon met by our cats Nikki, Lukie and Abby, and that they are swapping slobber and stories and once again having a grand old time together. Thomas believes that, too, though it’s little consolation to him right now.

Goodbye, Chloe. We love you.

I was wrong about Pokey the snail. He died today.

I ran ammonia and Ph tests on the tank water and was shocked by the results. The ammonia test was off the charts. The Ph was also out of whack. I took the filter housing off and scrubbed it with an old toothbrush because it had some slimy gunk in it. I also changed the filter and added some drops that are supposed to help. I put about two gallons of fresh water in a bucket and put the de-chlorinator in it, so tomorrow night I will replace some of the water in the tank. After this, we’ll be testing the water weekly to make sure this doesn’t happen again. 

Keeping fish is sure a lot of damn work.

As I mentioned two days ago, we had a goldfish die, buried him at sea, and then bought another fish and a snail to keep the remaining fish company. As Tuesday wore on, the new fish, Speedy, wasn’t looking so hot. He was hanging out near the bottom and just not doing much besides breathing, or whatever you call what fish do for oxygen. We took him out and put him in a bowl of water, just in case there was something in the tank that was affecting him. 

This morning, I went in to check on him.

And found him floating. Damn.

Fortunately, we’d been preparing Thomas yesterday that things may not go well, so he was somewhat prepared. It hasn’t affected him the way Fred’s passing did. And for that I’m grateful. We buried Speedy at sea, just like we did Fred.

I’m happy to report that Pokey the snail seems to be in fine form, as does our older fish, Rocky.

I went to the pet shop today and got some tests to run on the water to see if we have an ammonia or Ph problem, which I’ll be running tomorrow. We need to find out for certain if there’s something up with our tank water before we get another fish.

For Christmas, my sister-in-law gave my son two goldfish. Without asking us. Needless to say I was not happy about this, but he had them before we knew what was going on. Anyway, he’s been very happy with the fish and has been feeding them the right amount, and talking to them and making sure they were happy. All the nasty work, such as changing the filter, was handled by me.

So this morning, as I’m getting ready to leave the house, Thomas calls out “Dad! Fred’s stuck in the plants!” There are several decorative items in the aquarium and as I looked, I could see that Fred was indeed caught in one of the plants. And he wasn’t moving. I took the little net and tried to get him out. After he was free, he floated to the surface.

Graveyard dead.

Oh. Crap.

Thomas’ first question broke my heart: “What did I do wrong?” I tried to tell him that it was nothing he did. He did everything right. But sometimes, for reasons we can’t understand, things just die. We then explained the “traditional” method of burying fish: flushing them down the toilet. Tammy said a few words and then we committed Fred’s body to the deep.

I talked to him a little while ago, and he’s doing OK. They went to the pet store and got another fish, a fantail he named Speedy, and a snail, named Pokey. These two new additions will keep Rocky from getting lonely.

And I hope they stay alive for a long time… Please, O please, O please let them stay alive.

Last night before I went bowling, I decided to get something to eat. I wracked my brain to come up with some place that I haven’t eaten at 900 times recently, and finally settled on Applebee’s on Hwy. 124. I was seated and after what seemed like about 5 minutes, the waitress finally came over. I ordered a Coke and the Crispy Orange Chicken Bowl, without the mushrooms. She responded, “I’ll see if they can pick them out for you. It’s a mix.” I responded that I have gotten the dish there before without mushrooms, so it shouldn’t be a problem. For the record, a better response would have been, “OK” rather than, “I’ll see if they can pick them out.” After placing my order I commenced to reading my book while waiting for my food to arrive.

After 10 minutes or so, the food arrived, but the chicken and broccoli pieces were too large to manage in the bowl, so I asked for a small plate to cut them up. As I started cutting the chicken, I noticed something: it was completely raw on the inside. Not just one piece, but all of it. I called the waitress over and showed it to her. She took it, but didn’t seem overly concerned. I asked for a manager. The manager came over and after I explained what happened, she expressed a modicum of concern, though not as much as she should have. She said, “I’ll have to check the grease temperature. Everything is on a timer.” Well, yeah. If your grease is not hot enough (or is laden with gunk) then your cook times will need to be longer. But since the kitchen staff at places like this doesn’t actually cook, they only warm things up and mix things, I guess expecting them to know that is asking a bit much.

Anyway, I told her that I didn’t have time for a reorder and I was just going to leave. She didn’t make me pay for my Coke, but didn’t offer anything else as a concession. Good management, there.

As I was leaving, I heard my name called. I turned and saw six of the people from my bowling league. I went over to talk and right as I walked up, one of them was calling for their waitress. Guess why. Her chicken was also raw! When I saw this, I said (rather loudly), “Hey! They gave you raw chicken, too!” I found out later that the manager didn’t even bother to come out to talk to them, nor did she take the raw chicken off the bill.

As it turns out, they got a 79 on their most-recent health inspection. I won’t be going back any time soon.

Oh yes, we haz it. Thomas has been playing for hours. I’ve played for an hour to two, myself. It’s very cool. We haven’t played online yet, but we’re working on it. Thomas and I have both created stages using the stage editor. I really like when you can customize a game.

There’s a new restaurant that’s opened up near us called the Snellville Diner. We keep saying, “We need to try the Snellville Diner,” but so far we haven’t gotten over there. And now, I don’t know if we ever will. They had a health inspection on Feb. 18 and they got a 29 out of 100!!! What the hell?!? How do you get 29 out of 100? Correction: how do you get a 29 out of 100 and stay open?

They had a follow-up inspection yesterday and this time they scored a stellar 62. From reading the inspection reports, not only were there problems from the first inspection that weren’t dealt with, there were new problems. Several of the problems dealt with not washing hands after hitting the restroom and improper handling of things like raw chicken and other things that are going to end up killing someone.

You can read the reports for yourself here. But the two egregious reports are

• 02/18/2008 Report, Grade: 29
• 02/21/2008 Report, Grade: 62

After the crappy BBQ place that was in that location before closed up, I was happy to see something new opening up. But if they are off to such an awful start, I doubt it’s going to last. I can tell you it’s going to take about 6 health inspections with 100′s on them before I’d be willing to try it.

Update: According to this article in the AJC, the Snellville Diner had a third inspection and received a 100. I’m still going to pass on trying this place, at least for a while. While you might be able to convince an inspector that everything is OK, continuing the proper practices long-term is what’s really important.

Two days ago the three of us were sitting around eating lunch. The topic of Thomas’ too-long hair came up and Tammy and I both agreed that he needed a haircut. The following dialog commenced:

Me: You really need a haircut.
Thomas: But dad, I don’t want a haircut.
Me: You should get your hair cut like mine! :-)
Thomas: But daaaaaad! I don’t wanna be bald!

I’m not bald… just thinning…

Last night was bowling night. (164, 174, 129, in case you were wondering.) Thomas (my 9 year-old) goes with us and hangs out with us or in the arcade. Last night, his best friend went too, because his best friend’s mother was also bowling. So there we were at the bowling alley, having a good time.

Shortly before we were going to head home, Thomas and his best friend were running around (politely) and pretending to have some sort of ninja battle or Power Ranger fight or some other struggle against the powers of evil that kids do. The following dialog then ensued:

Me: Hey guys… this isn’t Fight Club, you know?
Thomas: The first rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club!
Me: …

I laughed my head off.

And no, he hasn’t seen Fight Club. We were watching some kids show recently, some cartoon, and there was a bit of dialog something like “… the first rule of Fluffy Bunny Club is you don’t talk about Fluffy Bunny Club…” or something like that. I immediately cracked up, and so I had to explain to him why that was funny. I told him about that one scene in Fight Club and he obviously remembered it very well. Too well. I’m sure the other adults who were nearby now think I let him watch inappropriate films…

It used to be that going for a walk and taking your camera was called “going for a walk and taking your camera.” No longer. Apparently now it’s called Photowalking. So, to keep up with the cool kids, I will use the same name.

For the last two nights, I’ve been “photowalking” around my neighborhood. None of the photos I’ve taken have been “amazing” or “stunning” or “you’ve-gotta-see-this” quality, but I especially like this one of the trees silhouetted against the evening sky.

You can see the rest of the pictures at the following links:

• Photowalk 09/29/2007
• Photowalk 09/30/2007
• Photowalk 10/02/2007
• Photowalk 10/03/2007
• Photowalk 10/06/2007
• Photowalk 10/07/2007

A few days ago I went by the grocery store. One of the things I picked up were some 12-packs of soda. I had three 12-packs in my cart when I went to check-out, and the clerk said that they had a special running: 4 12-packs for $10, and you got three 2-liters for free. It made sense for me to go get some more soda, so I did.

When I got home, I was able to get everything except two of the 12-packs in one trip, with the intention of coming back out for the other two. But something happened, and I never made it back out. The 2 12-packs in question were in the back floorboard, out of direct sunlight, so I didn’t see a problem.

The next day, Thomas and I were going somewhere. I opened his door for him, and noticed that the 2 12-packs were obstructing his leg-room. I moved one of the 12-packs to the back seat, behind the passenger seat, and off we went.

On Friday morning, I needed to run an errand. I went out to my car, got in and started it up. I noticed a strange smell, but couldn’t quite place it. I then turned around and saw a 12-pack of Pepsi One on the back seat. Actually, I should say I noticed the remnants of a 12-pack of Pepsi One on the back seat. Remnants, because the whole bloody thing had exploded all over the inside of my car. It was then that I noticed the brown spots all over the car: the ceiling, the sunroof, the back window, the side windows, the windshield, the back seat, the backs of the front seats. Yes, pretty much everywhere that could have gotten splattered did.

I got out, went back in the house and got Thomas to come out and see the carnage. He was amused. I have to say, I was, too. I just couldn’t help but laugh at this absurd occurrence. I got the remnants out, and as I gently dropped it down onto the driveway, another can exploded. It missed me, but barely. There were three others that looked like they were near the bursting point, so I carefully knocked the side of each one against the edge of the driveway to puncture it in a “controlled” fashion.

So, of a 12-pack, 8 exploded in the car, one on its own, and three via “controlled detonation.”

The lesson to be learned: if you live in the South, don’t leave sodas in your car on hot Summer days.