Letter to Madelaine. Saturday, November 12, 2016.

Well, old girl, how's tricks? Between work, family, church, and school, I imagine you must meet yourself coming & going. I hope Mom continues to be a big help to you, as you mentioned the last time we spoke.
I was thinking of calling you today but I'm having so much trouble with my throat lately that I decided against it. I don't know if it's a lingering cold or the smog out here or what, but every morning for the past three weeks I can only manage a husky whisper, no more. There's not much pain, but a lot of phlegm (oh great, the old man is going into nasty detail!) My voice gets better as the day progresses and I drink a lot of fluids. But then in the evening the huskiness returns and I sound like a rusty winch. It's an inconvenience more than a health issue to me, so I won't bother to see the doctor about it.

More worrying was this morning I woke up to use the bathroom and experienced a great wave of nausea and dizziness -- something that has never happened to me to this extent before. I couldn't get out of bed for a while, and when I finally did I staggered like a drunk. The attack, or whatever it was, lasted for 2 hours before starting to clear up. I feel much better now, but am wondering if this will be a reoccurring problem for me now. Just to play safe, I don't plan on venturing far from my apartment today -- I 'll just stay home reading and writing. I've looked at some medical websites, and they all say my dizziness and nausea could be the result of a sudden drop in blood pressure. That seems the most likely cause to me. But what could have caused it Ihave no idea. After all, I'm taking meds for high blood pressure, not low blood pressure. Oh well, like any man worth his salt, I'll ignore it in the hopes it will never happen again.

I had lunch with Sarah and Lance and Brooke yesterday at a very trendy cafe called Guru in downtown Provo. The food was really good (and expensive) and the grand kids were just so cute and affectionate. How come you were never that cute and cuddly?  :)
I can't believe how fast little Brookie is growing! She's developing her very own personality and is pretty fearless in dealing with new people and situations. And now Virginia is giving me another grand daughter any day! Sarah tells me that Virginia is going to keep the actual birth a secret for a day or two. For no apparent reason, except she is a dork, I guess. So chances are you'll hear about it before I do.

I've decided to finally cave in to the nagging about writing another autobiography I get from some of my professional writer friends. But I won't be doing a linear narrative, from point A to point B type of thing. Instead, I'll continue to write two-thousand word vignettes about different events and aspects of my life as a clown, radio announcer, and English teacher in Thailand --  which is what I've been doing for the past several years in a very desultory manner. When I get about 30 of them done I'll string them together and send it out to a publisher to see what happens.
Have you been reading any of them? I post them on my Facebook page, also on my Family Search memories page. I wish you would let me know what you think of them.
I would have loved it it my mom and dad had taken the time and effort to write down a few memories about their lives. But, like most people, they never felt the need to do so -- and that leaves them very much a mystery to me in many ways. I'm hoping that I become less of a mystery to you and the other kids as I continue to write about 'my life and hard times'.

Well, take care, my little peony bush. I think I'll take a little morning snooze now -- I'm feeling pretty tuckered out after my fun times last night . . . .

Love, dad

A Vigilante Action in Clown Alley

'Kyle' is the clown in the back of this old photograph. 


A young boy's definition of 'hygiene' is rather flexible. At least mine was. I was constantly at loggerheads with my mother over her insistence that I change underwear every day. At the time, this seemed rather drastic to me. Who would ever see my underwear, or ever be offended if it began to reek a teeny weeny bit? Changing it once a week seemed the saner course for a young man busy with long sweaty bike rides in the summer and intense ice skating sessions in the winter.
The constant washing of face and hands that were demanded of me prior to each meal at home were also an onerous and certainly unnecessary burden imposed by a germaphobic parent. Her high-handed approach to cleanliness was not next to godliness -- it was next to torture!
But as I matured (or at least my body matured -- there is still some debate in academic circles as to whether my mental abilities have ever extended beyond the capacity of an eight-year-old) I found that soap and water, and a good deodorant, were not the incredible imposition I had once thought; indeed, I realized if I was ever to snag a girl friend I would need to be as clean as a hound's tooth, if not as sharp. So I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and lathered up once a day -- and much good did it do me in the romance department. Girls not only wanted a sanitized boyfriend, but one with money and a car. Pfui!

It was a bitter lesson, one that I took with me to the Ringling clown alley in the year 1971 -- along with my by now entrenched habits of normal cleanliness.

Maintaining hygienic standards in clown alley took some doing. First there was the daily application, and then removal, of the heavy greasepaint. We didn't use any of that namby-pamby powdery stuff you see in stage productions, but good old Stein's Clown White -- a thick and oily white paste that stayed on despite sweat and strain -- and that came off unwillingly only with industrial-strength mineral oil. And even then there'd still be streaks of it in odd corners of the face and around the ears when vigilance was lax.  

My costumes were constantly under siege from animal fluids -- everything from tiger urine (they could direct a stream with unerring accuracy up to ten feet away from their cage) to the watery feces of the elephants after they had raided a handy dumpster. Not to mention the gallons of white goo that were flung around during the ring gags. It consisted mostly of shaving soap and glycerin, and it dried to a thin white crust that was as hard to dislodge as cement.

We were all kept busy washing, scrubbing, and brushing. The hobo clowns, like Otto Griebling and Mark Anthony, were doubly jealous of their personal sanitation; they kept their fingers rigorously manicured and doused themselves with pints of Old Spice. Even then, audience members would sometimes wrinkle their noses at one of them and exclaim "Pee-yoo, does that bum stink!"

But there was one holdout in clown alley who did not follow accepted hygienic practises. I'll call him 'Kyle' for the purposes of this narrative. He was a First of May, one of my fellow students from the Ringling Clown College in Venice, Florida.

Kyle disdained the use of mineral oil for makeup removal. He used Ponds cold cream, not very effectively. The outlines of his Auguste makeup were still clearly visible when he quit clown alley each night. He did not shower because, he claimed, he caught cold very easily. He shaved only intermittently. He rarely trimmed his nails, and the grime underneath them was as potent as night soil from any Third World country.

In other words, he was as filthy and smelly as a goat. How he ever got a contract with the show is a mystery on par with what actually started the infamous Hartford Circus Fire back in 1944.

And he kept his roomette on the circus train in the same squalid shape as himself. These roomettes had originally been the premier accommodations on the crack train lines between New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, back in the 1920's and 30's. But by the time Ringling Brothers purchased the cars they were practically slums on wheels. So we clowns had our work cut out for us just to keep our roomettes one step above a ghetto. They were dusty, drafty, and uncarpeted, but with a little elbow grease most of us managed to keep them somewhat civilized.

But not Kyle. He never changed the sheets on his Murphy bed; loved to eat fried chicken in his room and scatter the bones around like a Norman baron feeding his mastiffs; and he used his fold down sink as a urinal. The consequence was a new herd of cockroaches every few weeks, which would stampede out from his foul den to the surrounding roomettes -- including mine!

As spring swiveled to summer, Kyle's personal hygiene grew worse -- or at least the cumulative effects of his existing state of filth grew more offensive. There was talk of vigilante action.

 When the show reached Anaheim in July Kyle was unceremoniously removed from his noisome roomette late one night for a complete hosing down. I was not part of this posse, but I heard that they were not very gentle with him. The group also cleaned and scrubbed out his roomette, smashing family photos and other keepsakes while in the grip of their Lysol mania.

The next day Kyle showed up in clown alley sullen and bruised, but very clean. For the rest of that season Kyle kept his nose, and everything else, clean. If he began to slip he was grimly reminded that another midnight ablution could be arranged.

Today such brutal and direct action would certainly be condemned and probably prosecuted as a hate crime. I look back on that episode myself with lingering discomfort and guilt. But what else could have been done? We all asked him to please clean up his act prior to the outrage; our requests met with nothing but a grimy sneer. In the close-packed and volatile world of clown alley Kyle was just asking for trouble.

He did not get invited back for a second season with the circus. Many years later, at a Clown College reunion, I saw him sitting by himself in the corner of the hotel Hospitality Suite, smoking a cigarette. He would not make eye contact with me, so I didn't go over to say hello. He was wearing a light yellow polyester sports coat and white slacks and looked perfectly normal and clean to me. Somebody told me later he worked in Las Vegas as a lounge singer in some of the second string casinos. I remembered then -- he always had a pretty good baritone and used to sing cheerful Broadway show tunes a lot -- before the Night of the Hose.

Your Meds in an Emergency

In normal times, replacing expired medicines isn’t a major issue. You call your physician and get a refill for “fresh” meds. Medicine bottle descriptions and those in print and online sources tell you to discard any drug that has expired, a recommendation so common that it’s considered standard.

But in an emergency or disaster when access to your regular pharmacy may be cut off, what should you do with expired medications? Here are some thoughts from Hikingware.com:

You might be surprised to know that expiration dates have only been government-mandated since 1979. The expiration date is simply the last day that the pharmaceutical company will guarantee 100% potency of the product. In other words, you won’t grow a horn in the middle of your forehead or other ill effects if you take the drug the week after it expires. Indeed, it is rare for expired drugs, especially in pill or capsule form, to be any more risky than the non-expired versions.

This is an important issue to those preparing medically for survival scenarios. If you believe that some disaster will take society to the brink, then you should also understand that such a scenario also means that it’s unlikely that pharmaceutical companies will be functioning to manufacture drugs. Maybe for a few months, maybe for a year or longer. Therefore, at one point or another, you might have to make a decision regarding the use of an expired medication.

This is a decision that also must be made by government agencies such as FEMA and the Department of Defense. Federal warehouses store tens of millions of dollars’ worth of drugs meant for use in peacetime disasters. When these drugs expired, the forklifts came out and huge quantities of life-saving medicines were discarded.

Over time, even the government began to think, “Wow. This is getting expensive. I wonder if these drugs are still good?”. And with that thought, the Shelf Life Extension Program (SLEP) was developed.  The SLEP tested over a hundred drugs in their possession and found that the vast majority were 100% potent 2 to 12 years beyond their listed expiration dates.

These findings led the government to put out extensions of expiration dates for certain drugs as needed, such as the 5 year extension given the anti-viral drug Tamiflu (oseltamivir) during the 2009 swine flu epidemic. These are referred to as “emergency use authorizations”.

Despite this research, you’ll see opinions from those in academia or elsewhere that state all medications are dangerous when expired and should be discarded. These opinions are fine in normal times, but members of the preparedness community should at least consider holding on to medications that might no longer be available in times of trouble.

Think about this situation:  Let’s say that a true catastrophe has occurred that has taken out the grid and modern medical facilities for the foreseeable future. Your daughter is fading from a bacterial infection. You have an expired bottle of antibiotics. She’s dying. Are you going to use the expired drug or not? The answer is: YES, use them even if they're expired; at the very least, they cannot do her any harm.

Medicines, expired or not, should be stored in cool, dry, dark conditions. Their potency will fade twice as fast if stored at 90 degrees than if stored at 50 degrees. Freezing them, however, is rarely necessary. Even if stored in less than ideal conditions, a capsule or tablet that hasn’t changed color, smell, or consistency is probably still worth keeping for austere settings. Of course, in normal times, seek out qualified medical professionals whenever and wherever they are available for medicine refills.

And finally, it’s important to know that all drugs have side effects or restrictions in children, pregnant women, and patients with certain medical conditions. Take time to learn indications, dosage, and side effects of all medicines you keep in your medical supplies.

Have you got these on hand for an emergency?

Hikingware.com reminds us that not all survival supplies are big ticket items. Some essentials are very humble, but very necessary. 

The list below may seem a little weird — like, “Why would I need to stockpile that?” kind of strange. Well, you don’t know what you need until it’s gone, and these are some of those things you just really don’t want to have to try and do without. They are so cheap, they may even appear inconsequential. They’re not.

 Shoestrings are probably not on your radar, but you need them. Survival is going to be a lot of walking and outdoor work. Tying and retying your shoes weakens the strings. A broken shoestring is actually a big deal when you are trying to get around and your shoe is falling off. They are cheap, so load up on them in varying sizes. Or be sure all your shoes use Velcro. 

 Duct tape is something that appears on most survival lists, but a single roll is just not going to do it. You will discover you will need duct tape for just about everything. You could easily go through a roll in the first week if you are using plastic to cover the windows, fix broken glass and so on. Duct tape to waterproof shoes is a common trend, but what they don’t tell you is you can burn through almost an entire roll on one pair of shoes.

 Nails and screws. These are not always cheap, but if you visit some yard sales or thrift stores, you can get them for fairly cheap. Big buckets and cans of screws and nails, even if they are used and a little rusty, will prove invaluable when you are starting over from scratch. They can be used to build new shelters, repair existing structures or fix fences. And they can be used in trade for other items you may need and not have. 

 Reading glasses. You can pick them up for a buck at the dollar store. Buy a lot. If you have a slight vision impairment, you will want to be able to see to read, do any kind of detailed work or to see in general. When there are no eye doctors available for a while, you will want to have the extra glasses on hand.

 Ziploc sandwich bags. Generic ones are fine. These bags will make life a little easier and cleaner. Packing food for a scouting trip, keeping medical supplies dry, storing dried herbs and so on is easier when you have sandwich bags. If first-aid supplies are in short supply, wrapping a sandwich bag around a bandage will help keep the injury and bandage dry if you are going to be in the rain or snow.

 Paper plates and plastic utensils. They are a bit of a luxury, but imagine when you have no water. You won’t be able to wash dishes very often. You don’t want to eat off dirty dishes (it could make you sick) and you don’t want to leave a sink full of dirty dishes that will invite unwanted guests. Paper plates can be used and then burned for fuel.

 Safety pins. They also are so versatile! Using them to hold up your pants, replace a broken zipper or as a makeshift hem are just some of the uses. You also can use them as a fishing hook or to hold a tent door closed. And again, they can be used to bargain for anything you may need but have run out of. After all, they don't go stale! 

 Gloves of all kinds. Exam, rubber and work gloves are going to be a huge help. Putting on a pair of exam gloves when you are butchering an animal is prudent, especially if water is in short supply. Rubber gloves can be worn when you are cleaning up nasty business, including the bucket toilet. Work gloves will protect your hands from blisters when you are taking care of outside chores.

Novelist Jade Chang on the Pros and Cons of Googling While Drinking Cachaça

Researching a bottle of booze

reveals tipsy thoughts that are news.

I don't like to think

it's only the drink

that colors my DUI views . . . 

Fergus Falls man to ride giant pumpkin down Red River to break world record

Rick Swenson took his pumpkin to the river Red to ride
from Grand Forks down to Oslo on the water's pulsing tide.
He'd grown it in his meadow where the mourning doves did coo;
he scooped it out with shovel to create a round canoe.
This Swenson was a sturdy chap, who yearned for Guinness fame;
he didn't want to drink the stuff, just win their listing game.
His mother by the riverbank did plead with him in vain
to come back home instead to fix the stopped up kitchen drain.
His friends said it was folly, and his pastor shook his head;
his high school teachers recommended he should stay in bed.
But Swenson spurned their doubts and fears, and tipped his pumpkin in,
and used his oaken paddle to prevent a lot of spin.
The water gurgled, cold and gray, as cruel as Donald Trump;
the branches and the snags reached out, his fragile bark to dump.
Brave Swenson steered around them all, including sandbars hid
just below the water, full of broken glass and squid.
Along the banks the crowded ranks of well-wishers did yell
as he floated by serene inside his pumpkin shell.
He hit a log and near capsized, but righted at the last.
He waved in manly solitude while motorboats roared past.
Six and twenty miles he rode his pumpkin without fail -- 
and then ran into trouble when the weather turned to hail!
It pummeled him and pierced the pumpkin shell so that it sank;
he was nearly frozen when they dragged him to the bank.
And so the Guinness Record Book did not receive the news,
and Swenson went back home to fix the drains and sadly muse
on how the whimsies of the gods gave freely of renown
to some, but to the others left them feeling like a clown. 

The Breaded Pork Tenderloin

Pork tenderloins all breaded are quite good enough for me;
once I've had my fill of them I'm full of joy de vie. 
With a little mustard and a touch of relish, too,
they provide me with an optimistic worldly view.
Bring 'em on for breakfast, or for lunch, or late at night;
I'll eat them till the cows come home, or mom turns out the light.
Pork tenderloins and Iowa go hand in glove, by gum;
and anyone says diff'rent is a lousy commie bum!
Of course if you put bacon on the top of one you'll find
the kind of taste and texture that will blow your little mind.
Forget about elections or a terrorist attack;
give me breaded tenderloins, and pile 'em in a stack!
Add some mashed potatoes and some coleslaw, holy smoke -- 
it'll send you straight to heaven (maybe by a stroke).
So hail the breaded tenderloin of pork, ye men of meat;
unlike Trump, it's something that is very hard to beat.