Middle School Students "Just Say No" to Bullying

Kids--at least some kids--it seems, are all set with bullying. As in, they're not going to put up with it any longer. I saw a TV news story tonight that opened a bright little window in my jaded outlook on humanity.

A crime took place at a Ravena, NY middle school yesterday. Three boys--two age thirteen and one age twelve--followed a classmate around the halls, harassing him. They pinned him to the wall, assaulted him, and stole his money. Such things have probably been happening as long as there have been boys in schools.

But the really amazing thing is that this time, the other kids who were witnesses to this extreme bullying incident, didn't just stand by watching or turn away pretending they didn't see what was happening. They got involved. They confronted the bullies and quickly alerted the School Resource Officer.

The officer called for backup and the bullies were arrested and charged with gang assault, unlawful imprisonment, and robbery.

It was great to see the look of hope and optimism on the school superintendent's face as he described how kids in his district are gradually becoming more aware of bullying and actively taking a stand against it. That spirit the superintendent was describing in the Ravena-Coeymans-Selkirk Middle School students immediately reminded me of some other "ordinary" people, these on an airplane over Shanksville, PA on 9/11/2001 who "just said no" to the terrorist hijackers intent on crashing that plane into greater Washington, D.C.

It seems chivalry and honor have not gone the way of the dinosaur. And teenage heroes will someday grow up to be adult heroes.


Here is our Jude Hayes Mysteries quote for the day:

The next few minutes are hazy in my memory, but I remember immediately lowering my gun and placing it carefully on the floor, then staring at the duo for what felt like an eternity as my jaw worked, but no words came out.

“Are you all right, Jude?” My rescuer’s voice was tinged with concern. I knew that voice … from somewhere.

David Weber & James D. Doss, Masters of Sci-Fi & Mystery

I've been a sci-fi fan ever since I stumbled upon a partial collection of Tom Swift Jr. books in the family bookcase when I was just a girl. I'm unclear--as in, I can't remember because I'm old--as to whether these books belonged to my older sisters or, if not, where exactly they came from. There were no boy cousins hanging around our house. But you have to love a title like Tom Swift in the Caves of Nuclear Fire, so I read them all.

There were also Trixie Belden books to be found in that old bookcase, and I took to Trixie and her sleuthing partner Honey right away. It seems I've been reading sci-fi and mysteries for well over forty years. There's something comforting about pleasant occupations that don't change.

In more recent times, Tom and Trixie have been succeeded--never replaced, of course--by Charlie Moon and Honor Harrington, creations of James D. Doss and David Weber, respectively. These authors are extreme adepts, masters of the pen in their respective genres.

Sadly, James left us last year. When my sister, an extreme mystery fan, bemoaned the fact that there would be no more Charlie Moon mysteries, I shared the sentiment and told her I liked to think of James wandering about Canyon del Espiritu with Daisy Perika, Charlie's aunt, and her spirit friends, most notably, the pitukupf. Thanks for the memories, James.

David, thankfully, is still going great guns with his Honor Harrington series. She is my favorite Weber character, and I have been saying for years, "The Honor Harrington books should be made into movies. They'd be better than Star Wars! I'm sure they'd be difficult to make, technically, with all those starships and weapons spread around the entire explored universe, but I bet Hollywood has the cinematic chops for it now, after Star Wars, the new Star Trek movies, The Matrix, and Avatar."

Well, it seems David and friends heard me. Honor Harrington is coming to the big screen next year! How phenomenal is that?! But I have. . . a few unsettling questions. Who can they possibly find, what supernaturally talented actress can they cast who will do justice to Honor? That's a lot of pressure, both for the casting director and the actress. Wow.

How will they handle the treecats? Which book will they start with? And my ultimate fear--what if the movie's not as good as the book? "Dudette," as Clicker (from my own humble book, Remover of Obstacles), would say, "It can, like, never measure up to the ginormous proportions of fine storytelling in those books. Not happening, Dudette." Too true, Clicker. Too true. But we can hope.

One of the things that serial sci-fi TV shows and movies do very well is to create that "comfortable circle of friends" that is the goal of my own books. I would have watched William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy, Patrick Stewart and Jonathan Frakes until they were a hundred years old if they still kept making Star Trek movies. And now I'm gradually taking to the new guys, Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto. I'd watch more Star Wars movies. A sequel to Avatar. Some of the new TV sci-fi series are very promising.

It's all about the characters and their ongoing celluloid lives, their "continuing mission," if you will. They are, simply put, old friends, and I don't want them to go away! I really believe that this is the primary reason sci-fi and mystery series do so well. Oh, sure, the special effects--the battling warships and the scary aliens in sci-fi, the clever forensic sleuthing and the twisted plots that eventually lead our favorite detectives to the killers--that's all big fun, but so are the relationships, the community among the characters. It give us friends, it gives a home, it gives us a most welcome distraction. It gives us a "comfortable circle of friends."

My special thanks go out to David Weber for bringing that "comfortable circle of friends" into my home, especially this last year which has been a dark one for me. I've read his whole Honor Harrington series over a couple of times. Honor and his other characters have always been there for me, making a lonely time a lot brighter and bringing encouragement. After all, when things get tough, I can always ask myself, "What would Honor do?"And when I need a little help to get going on a tough project, I can almost hear Honor say, "Let's be about it." Thanks for the characters, David!

Here's your Jude Hayes snippet:

“I was starting to say—she looked down her nose at Andy—that Severo-sensei was more gifted than anyone I’ve ever seen on the mat—including the direct students of O’Sensei.”

Andy shook his head and said with uncharacteristic gravity, “No argument there. He’s brilliant.”

“Was it me, or does he have some kind of unusual energy, er, I mean ki?” I asked.

Gayle blurted out, “Oh, extraordinary ki and an absolutely immovable center.”

“It’s almost like he can move you with his mind,” Andy mused.

“You watch too many sci-fi movies, Andy,” I commented dryly, though I understood completely what he meant. Something about Severo-sensei seemed almost … mystical?

He sniffed. “For your information, O lowly junior student, ki isn’t all that far from ‘The Force.’”

“And that would make Severo-sensei what—Obi Wan Kenobi?” I jeered, though the reference no longer seemed so far-fetched, I secretly admitted to myself.

“The younger Obi Wan, maybe. But with even smoother moves.” He laughed.

I grinned back and we both glanced significantly at Gayle, declaring in unison, “Princess Leia!” Andy pointed at Gayle’s hair. “And look!—she even has a braid like Carrie Fisher wore in Star Wars!”

Witches Have Samhain, Christians Have Halloween

Writing fiction is lots of fun. Writing ridiculously inaccurate fiction aimed at defaming various groups, not so much. At least, not for the intended targets. 'Tis the season for Witch-bashing.

With the falling of the leaves this year, several new Witch-bashing TV series and movies have been dumped on us. What's the big deal? you ask. It's all just horror/sci-fi/fantasy fun, isn't it? There's no such thing as real Witches, just as there's no such thing as real vampires or real werewolves, anyway.

First of all, how do you or I know there's no such thing as real vampires or real werewolves? I'm not willing to make that blanket statement, though I've never knowingly seen either. After all, as Hamlet said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Personally, I'm not discounting any entities different from myself. The universe--including any less-dense or parallel dimensions or however metaphysicians and quantum physicists describe it all--is suitably infinite to contain all sorts of creatures both familiar and strange to us. Including real Witches.

But you don't have to achieve altered consciousness or travel outside the Milky Way Galaxy to find real Witches. You probably don't have to look any farther than your own hometown. Witches, by one definition, are practitioners of the federally recognized religion of Witchcraft, sometimes called Wicca. The U.S. military recognizes its symbol, the pentacle, for the final resting places of their honored dead. Most law enforcement agencies are aware of it, sadly, often due to hate crimes perpetrated against Witches and their families. Various courts in this country and others have ruled that it is a bona fide religion, not a cult, as the slanderers and religious bigots declare.

Witchcraft/Wicca--let's just go with Wicca as that's the name more people seem to recognize, though I personally think Witchcraft is more correct--defies rigid, concrete definitions, for it is a very inclusive, dynamically evolving religion. Its traditions reach back in time to the earliest depictions of the divine feminine--the Goddess--some 30,000 years ago. Yup, you read that correctly, thirty thousand years. Think, the cave paintings of Altamira. Think, Merlin Stone's classic book When God Was A Woman.

Wicca is, in very general terms, a Goddess-centered nature religion, sometimes classified as an example of neo-paganism. It's central tenet is a reverence for all life and a mandate that "no harm" be done to anyone or anything. Though simple, this law of Wicca--often called the Wiccan Rede--works out to be an extremely strict moral code. It's always seemed to me that the obvious corollary to doing no harm is helping others whenever possible. Doesn't sound like boiling children or burning scarecrows is allowed, does it? Well, they're not.

In early Colonial America, the easiest way to take a widow, or other unmarried woman's, property was to have her declared a Witch. In Europe during the Middle Ages, declaring a woman a Witch provided permission to torture and kill her. Indeed, this Witches' Holocaust in Europe, usually called "The Burning Times," extended from 1300 c.e. to 1800 c.e. and exterminated tens of thousands, possibly even millions of women and men.

What about Witches and Satanism?--you know, devil worship? Neither possible, nor allowed. There is no concept of a devil in Wicca. And any bad stuff associated with such a concept, is definitely forbidden in Wicca and a violation of its moral code. Sorry, Hollywood, real Witches don't sleep with your devil and consequently can't bear his demon spawn. I've seen some Witches with poorly behaved children, but that's hardly the same thing!

The stuff about good Witches versus bad Witches, white witches and dark Witches, that too is all silly TV stuff, folks. All Witches are supposed to be good Witches, according to the Wiccan Rede. Of course, Witches, being human, sometimes break the rules. Sorry to burst your expanding bubble, but there are miscreants and wrongdoers in all religions. Witches are not immune to misbehavior.

The Witches I've known, have generally been good people. They love and guard the animals. They do their part to protect the environment and help those in need. They try hard to get along with those of different faiths and philosophies, and to dispel misconceptions about Wicca. If you want to see this in action, go to Salem, Massachusetts and watch how the Wiccans and those of other religions work together to plan fund-raisers and other events benefitting the community. It's a special place, but not the only Wiccan enclave whose members work to create a harmonious community spirit.

Real Witches don't try to push their religion on anyone. Trying to manipulate or convert someone is strictly forbidden under the "no harm" provision. Manipulation is harm to a real Witch. Witches respect all sincere religious beliefs and the lack thereof--Wiccans respect agnostics and atheists, too.

What about real Witches and spells?--you know, that magic stuff? Well, it's spelled "magik" to differentiate it from stage magic--you know, from illusionists like David Copperfield?--and it's nothing more than using thought to encourage energy to move in a specific way--very much like prayer. Once again, spells are only for good things--healing, protection, wisdom, harmony--like that.

Magik itself is neutral. There are people who practice negative, a.k.a. as "black" magik, but those unfortunate folks are headed down the same path Obi Wan and Yoda warned Annakin Skywalker about--with similar detrimental results. There is another tenet of Wicca called the Law of Threefold Return which says that what you send out, returns to you in kind, magnified by a power of three. Sound like what happened to Annakin? Uh-huh. Real Witches don't go there.

So, let's say you have a friend who's a Witch--and you go to her, or his, home--by the way, a male Witch is simply called a Witch, not a warlock. The word "warlock" historically means "oath breaker" and is not, in the real world, at least, applied to male Witches. Sorry, Samantha, Uncle Arthur was really a Witch, not a warlock, unless, well, he did tell some fibs occasionally. . ..

Anyway, you go to your Wiccan friend's home and you see a "kitchen witch," one of those cute dolls with the green face and long, warty nose riding a broomstick hanging over her sink. What's up with that? Back to the human thing again--real Witches have a sense of humor. Besides, there are enough real Witches around that some probably do have a few warts. It's a common skin problem. Mostly they choose to laugh at the stereotype. Sometimes it does get a little old. But only the part about Witches being mean and nasty and doing horribly imbalanced and evil deeds. When you hear those things being said about members of other religions, it's called prejudice and religious persecution, and it's illegal and immoral. And it's how many thousands of human beings ended up being burned alive.

So what about Witches and Halloween? Well, it's Witches and Samhain (pronounced Sow-when), really. It's the Witches' New Year. A time to put the crops in storage for the winter and shelter the animals, in the Old World's traditions. It's also a time to honor the ancestors and give thanks for everything the Goddess has provided all year long. A time to rest and plan for the future. A time to celebrate the cycle of life and death.

Halloween refers to All Hallow's Eve, the eve of the Christian holiday All Saints' Day. Same calendar day--October 31st--as Samhain, different religious observance.

Samhain is not a mischief-making event--unless it's a fun masquerade ball or taking the kids trick-or-treating. It's also a somber celebration to honor the family and friends who've passed on in the previous year. It's the most important holiday on a Witch's calendar. So, please remember that when you take your kids to your Wiccan friend's door on this upcoming highest holiday for Witches. When she says, "Happy Halloween," to you and your kids, the polite reply is, "Happy Samhain."

Samhain and Halloween both happen this Thursday night, so drive carefully when the little ones and their parents are out and about! Be safe and have fun!

Here's the Jude Hayes Mysteries, Book One--Remover of Obstacles excerpt for the day:

Holding a mug of tea, (Jasmine) joined me on my side of the counter. “So how do you like my new window display?”

“To be honest, I didn’t really notice it,” I finished, blushing.

“It’s been up there for three days and the crack private investigator didn’t notice a whole picture window full of stuff. Way to go on the keen observation thing, Jude!”

“All right. All right. See me going over there right now.” I flounced up off my stool and over to the window facing the main hallway. Hanging from the ceiling was an opalescent five-pointed star within a circle of silver, shimmering a holographic blue—the color seemed to change as you looked at it—surrounded by similar, smaller stars and much colorful glitter on the white counter below. I walked out the door so I could see the hallway side of the display. An assortment of small Goddess statues, candles in rainbow colors reflected by nearby quartz crystals and mirrors, various small knick-knacks, and books with such titles as Curious About the Craft?, Is there a Goddess in Your House?,  All Witches Are Good Witches, and You Can Be Magikal, Too. Several varieties of ivy wound their tendrils about the display items. The effect was—well, magical, full of light and color.

A jade bullfrog seemed poised to leap to freedom out of a black onyx cauldron. His little froggy face was so compelling that I picked up the small statue to look at the price tag underneath. The price was very reasonable and I carried him over to my place at the counter.

“Pretty nice display, Jazz. I’m impressed.”

She sighed. “It’s mostly for the kids. We get so many teens in here who are just dying to ask me questions about Goddess traditions, the female divine, and what it was like when people knew that Witches were wise women and healers. But they just blush a lot and hide in the back of the reading area looking at the books. It’s usually up to their mothers to purchase a book by, say, Silver Ravenwolf, that’s written for teens.” I vaguely remembered Jasmine describing the famous Wiccan author—a modern Witch—who tried to correct the slanderous and misleading impressions about real Witches that movies and TV had been only too happy to promulgate.

“I see you like my Adventure Frog series.”

“Adventure Frogs? Are those like reptilian Transformers or G.I. Joe dolls or something?”

She tried for a disparaging comeback but burst out laughing instead, “No, Miss Smartie, they’re a hugely popular collector series and—”

“Jasmine?” I interrupted, my eyes going wide as I did a double take, staring intently at the little frog statue. “What do modern Witches use cauldrons for?”

“What? Oh, well, they’re mostly symbolic these days—symbolic of the divine feminine. We use them in our rituals to hold water, sometimes wine or mead, and they make a safe, fireproof vessel for burning incense on self-igniting charcoal. Why?”

“Not for cooking?”

“Maybe at a Renaissance Fair or some other historical reenactment, but I myself prefer a non-stick pot on a gas stove. Why do you ask?”

I grimaced as I said, “Not to bring up unpleasant subjects, but a cast-iron cauldron was apparently the murder weapon used at the Pierpont Mansion.”

“How strange. The tragedy that the media is so callously calling ‘The Garden Party Murder’?”

“That’s the one.”

How Nuclear Power Followed Me to Colorado & Fracking Followed Me to New York (Part 2--Scarlet O'Hara Probably Didn't Own the Mineral Rights Under Tara)

My husband and I and our newly adopted Pit Bull puppy had only been living on our quiet county road in Silt, Colorado for a couple of months, when preparations for drilling a gas well began across the road from our house. It almost seemed as if the well pad and the derrick, or "rig," arrived overnight. And, as we were to learn, many things associated with gas drilling happen during the nighttime hours--the better to keep homeowners from noticing.

As mentioned in my previous post, due to "the split estate" convention, someone else can own the mineral rights under your property. You are merely the surface owner. This is a foreign concept to most Easterners--ditto for water rights. In Colorado, we were told, most of those mineral rights were snapped up by energy companies or speculators over a hundred years before.

Theoretically, unless you sign a surface lease, drilling companies can't come onto your property. Theoretically. However, if enough of your neighbors sign leases to allow drilling on their property, you may be compelled to allow drilling as well. This is called "forced pooling."

About the time the rig sprouted in a nearby field, an agent known colloquially as a "landman" appeared at our door one day. His alleged mission was to get us to sign a surface lease to allow the gas company who owned our mineral rights free access to our property. He became very angry when we took one look at his lease and told him we'd take it straight to our lawyer. Turns out he didn't even represent the company who owned our mineral rights--he was only a broker hoping to make a quick buck by selling the lease to them.

Sadly, whether you can successfully prevent drilling activity on your property actually becomes almost a moot point--if it's close to your land, that's plenty bad enough. After the neighboring rig went up, our quiet rural road turned into a raucous, industrial mudhole. The well had high-intensity lights at night. The trailers and shacks came in garish circus collars that didn't even try to blend in with the natural browns and greens of the landscape. There were lots and lots of high-frequency screeching noises and constant low-frequency thrumming that disturbed our sleep.

We could hear the rig workers hollering and swearing at all hours of the day and night. Most of them weren't natives, they were usually from Texas, Louisiana, or Oklahoma and didn't know or care about the neighbors. They brought their meth problems with them, too. The long hours and dangerous working conditions seemed to foster substance abuse. Consequently, drug crimes moved into our hollow. Our normally clear and tranquil early mornings were choked with the pungent smell of methane so bad you didn't want to be out on the porch drinking your coffee anymore, anyway.

Then one of our neighbor's wells went bad. The energy company started trucking in water for them and created a cistern. "Oh, sorry about that, folks," they said. Next a truck pulling a tanker full of toxic distillate from the well crashed, spilling the stuff all over the roadway up the hill from our house, allowing it to escape into the groundwater. Only because it was daytime did anyone notice, since the tankers usually came in the night to draw off the distillate. The ubiquitous red trucks of a certain energy services company would be lined up a dozen thick on the side road near the well, adding more noise and light pollution to the formerly quiet night, waiting to put more huge ruts in the field that used to grow wildflowers.

We knew it was only a matter of time before our well went bad, too. We'd started doing a lot of research, but it was impossible to miss stories in the local paper like the one about methane bubbling up in a local rancher's creek where his animals watered. One of those newspaper stories mentioned that the energy companies had made over three billion dollars in Garfield County--our county--the previous year. With that kind of incentive, did we really think they'd stop? We saw no choice but to find some place to live in Colorado where there were no gas deposits. We looked west.

Even with their amazing profits, the energy companies couldn't take the gas out fast enough, and that's perhaps the issue I've had one of my biggest problems with. Hydraulic fracturing, a.k.a., "fracking." Toxic liquids under pressure are forced down the well bore in order to fracture the rock and release more gas. Such fracking fluids are proprietary--read, they don't have to tell the public what's in them--but many known carcinogens have been identified in groundwater where fracking takes place--and they are exempt from the Safe Drinking Water Act.

It's perfectly possible to drill for gas without using fracking. It's just more expensive. So, instead of doing things the right way, the energy companies choose the far more lucrative way. It's all fun and games with energy production until someone, say, loses reactor containment--or a town loses the safety of its entire water supply. It's tough to get along without water. Try it for a day.

Finally, we sold our nice little home in Silt, for a huge loss. So much for the theory that drilling would increase the value of a property--that was just propaganda designed to popularize granting leases. Someone from out of state bought it and last we knew, declined to live there, probably leased it to the drilling company. We'd been forced to follow the sneering advice that was briefly quoted in the paper regarding our neighboring town of Rifle: "Rifle's a gas town now. If you don't like it, get the f--- out!" Something good came out of it, at least--we moved to Grand Junction, which we loved as no place we'd lived before.

We had really tried to get along with the gas drilling industry. After all, just as with nuclear power, for the time being at least, the country needs natural gas. Oh wait, did I mention that the energy companies are saying that the market has tanked in this country? Tanked? As in, we don't need the gas anymore? If that were because alternative energy had taken up the slack, that would be wonderful. But, it's not that there's no market here any longer, it's that the market in China is far, far more lucrative for the energy companies. All the fracking destruction of our groundwater is just to keep China warm. Guess we'll have to keep buying foreign oil. But have you heard about the new oil shale drilling proposals. . . hey, it turned Parachute, CO into a ghost town in the 80s. . ..

Soon as we moved to New York for my job in 2008, we started hearing about gas drilling in the Marcellus Shale. About how there was more gas under New York and Pennsylvania than in all the West. That's when the flashbacks to Silt started for both of us. We'd been there and yes, I'd bought the T-shirt--from a conservation group opposed to fracking--should we tell our story and would anyone believe us? After all, we'd never thought about gas drilling before we moved to Colorado. Turns out, sometimes you have to see it up close and personal before you really understand--especially when disinformation comes with a multi-billion-dollar incentive for the corporations.

So, we told a few stories about gas drilling to our friends and co-workers and they listened politely, as if remotely interested--as in, "So there are problems with drilling--so what? We need the gas, don't we?" But someone was really listening. The western New Yorkers saw the horrors drilling had left in its wake in nearby gas meccas in Pennsylvania. Most of PA has become one huge drilling pad. Oh, and when they take the rig down? The land never goes back. First of all, the trucks have to return every couple of weeks to draw off the toxic distillate from the well--or it can explode. Then there's the ugly-colored compressor shack and the cows drinking from toxic puddles. . .. And the compressor stations built along the pipeline to increase the pressure--they having flaring smokestacks just like New Jersey and sometimes the whole station explodes.

Andrew Cuomo, the Governor of New York, and numerous legislators listened to people like us. A moratorium on drilling and fracking came down. Time was needed to study the practice. Turns out one of the great things about New Yorkers is that they're not easily hoodwinked. Street-smart and savvy are they. They looked at Pennsylvania and Colorado and other states where gas drilling takes place and they learned from what happened there.  I heard an executive from a foreign energy company being interviewed on a local news program say that because New York had taken so long to make up its mind about allowing fracking, his company had gone bankrupt. As they say in the cowboy movies, any of which could have been shot in a pre-gas town Rifle, Colorado, "I shore felt sorry for that pard,' truly I did!" "Not hardly," as Jude Hayes would say.

Here's today's quote from Remover of Obstacles:

“Well, A.J.’s great-grandfather most assuredly had his robber baron phase during the time of the silver boom, but his descendants have all been basically decent, hardworking, and upstanding citizens who just happen to have inherited the Midas touch."  

How Nuclear Power Followed Me to Colorado & Fracking Followed Me to New York (Part 1--The Rulison Project)

My dad was an old-school mechanical engineer and always said that "Someone has to make Clorox," when friends would talk wistfully about a return to a less technologically complicated world. He was of the firm opinion that someone--preferably in this country--had to generate energy, too. Well, "duh," as Clicker from my book would say, that's pretty obvious.

I was a big proponent of nuclear power growing up as I did not far away from the Millstone Power Station in Waterford, Connecticut. It was a fascinating place to visit. I even wrote a paper on it for Earth Science class in high school. I read about cold breeder reactors and how we could produce even more energy with less waste if we could just solve the consumption problem related to a necessary and expensive catalyst. Wow, that sounded great. Listening to my enthusiasm, my dad snorted and opined that "You don't get something for nothing," his favorite engineering maxim.

Millstone was making money hand over fist from its fuel rods and whirring turbines, selling surplus power out of state. It seemed like the industry born of a war weapon was maturing nicely. Uh, at least until Three Mile Island, Chernobyl, and Fukushima Daiichi. It seemed the "new" technology had a downside as all technologies do. Even wind turbines kill a lot of birds every year.

When I moved to Colorado in 2002, my husband and I found a little house in New Castle. During the negotiations for purchase, our lawyer tried to explain about mineral rights and "the split estate." True rubes from the East, we couldn't imagine what she was talking about. "Gas drilling," she said, "and someone else owns the mineral rights under your house. They don't come with the purchase." How strange, we thought. We didn't see anyone drilling for anything near our little housing development. So, we forgot about it and bought the house.

A couple years later, needing more space, we starting looking for an affordable property in Silt. We had an honest realtor, and after we looked at a nice house with some land up a county road, she brought out a map with lots of red dots decorating Garfield County. Gas wells. "I just wanted you to know what you're getting into--there's pretty intensive drilling out this way." This time we'd actually noticed a gas derrick not too far from our intended home. "Ah, so what?" we said, "Our country needs the gas--it has to be in somebody's back yard." Just like nuke plants, I thought. No big deal.

Getting back to industry born of a war weapon, not long after we'd moved in, we talked to a neighbor who asked if we'd ever heard of the Rulison Project or Project Plowshare. "Yeah, it was 1973 when they nuked Rulison, looking for gas. Put a nuclear bomb down the hole. We felt the ground shaking like an earthquake all the way back in Parachute." Turns out it wasn't just a local tall tale meant for the Eastern rubes. It was true.

Project Plowshare was created by the federal government to explore post-WWII peaceful uses of nuclear energy. (Some say it was also propaganda designed to desensitize Americans to the buildup of a nuclear arsenal.) The Rulison Project was part of the effort to prove the feasibility of using nuclear explosives to release gas held by the rock, the insane forerunner of hydraulic fracturing, a.k.a., fracking. The Rulison blasts under Fawn Creek our friend mentioned were about 30 kilotons each. Oh, the underground explosions released lots of gas from the rock all right. Except it was unacceptably contaminated with radiation and consequently unusable.

Unfortunately, those radionuclides are still down there, and conventional drilling activity creeps ever closer to the site--permits have been issued for as close as one mile from ground zero. "Yikes!" as Jude Hayes would say. Seems to me we don't need gas that badly. Sometimes it's worth taking the time to think a matter through. Which is exactly what the governor of New York is doing concerning gas drilling here. Stay tuned for Part 2 of my energy saga, probably in tomorrow's post.

In the meantime, here's my Jude Hayes quote for today:

“As a matter of fact, I know virtually nothing about the gentleman in question.” I glared at Jasmine who was studiously examining the wine list.

“I’m sure you’ll have a very nice time,” A.J. declared. “Jared is the grandson of an old school friend. He’s done very well in business owing partly to his prowess as an engineer— including an innate creativity.”

Great. He sounded like a nerdy guy with acne scars, a pocket protector, and three cell phones on his belt who collected Star Wars memorabilia and designed eminently boring things. Politely pretending interest, I asked, “What exactly is his business?”

Cheerfully ignoring my lack of enthusiasm, A.J. said, “Well, he’s an environmental engineer who started his own alternative energy company. Wind and water turbines, solar panels, advanced batteries—even those ‘out there’ applications like ‘free energy’ from magnetism. It’s all very au courant. I invested a few coins when it was a start-up.”

“Hmm. Okay. He might be kind of interesting.”

Jasmine folded her arms and fixed me with a full-on glare. “Jude Hayes, do not give me that condescending this-guy-must-be-a-serious-loser look when you haven’t even met him.”

“What?” I feigned innocence.

Neighbors Want to Cut Down My Tree

I know I was ranting on and on just yesterday about all the tree species we have here in upstate New York and what a road hazard wet leaves can be. Well, today I've got another leaf problem--not the leaves, exactly, but my neighbors. Wet leaf danger notwithstanding, I'm actually very fond of trees. I even hug them sometimes.

My little house is clearly too close to my neighbors. At the very edge of my yard sits a venerable old catalpa tree. I don't know how old it is, except to say that it's seen more winters than I have. We only just moved in last February, and ever since I met my neighbors, they have been pestering me to chop down my catalpa tree, repeatedly offering to remove it for me free of charge.

The tree is not a monster, though other catalpas in the neighborhood are veritable giants, mine is only about ten feet tall. Is it blocking my neighbors' view? No. Are there rabid squirrels living in it? No again, though I once had the daylights scared out of me when a large owl flew up from the ground and into its branches right in front of my face. Might it be infested with Lyme-bearing ticks? Probably not, since it's not really good tick habitat where I live. Carpenter ants? Unh-uh.

What then, you may ask, is this tree's great crime? You won't believe this, but my neighbors are irate because some of its leaves are blowing into their yard. Yup--that's it. Apparently that's a good enough reason for them to helpfully offer to bring their chain saw over and kill this perfectly healthy, shade-giving, oxygen-generating, beauty-providing, owl-housing catalpa tree. C'mon, people, that's just part of a normal fall around here. I have maple leaves in my yard from three houses down and I don't complain--just rake them up with the other leaves. This is the Northeast--as I said yesterday, we have LEAVES. And my neighbors have lived here all their lives, for crying out loud.

So far I've politely refused their offer of arboreal homicide. But I can feel myself getting ready to draw the sword, metaphorically speaking, of course. The next time they badger me, I intend to tell them that they can cut down my tree when they can show me where any of their names are listed on the deed for my house! Geez, neighbors!

Here's the Jude Hayes quote for today:

We all trooped toward the kitchen where I collected two leashes off the pegboard by the back door and stuffed them into my pocket. Rachel and Decker are sufficiently trained to stay close to me, but I don’t quite trust them on the rare occasions that Mrs. Clausson’s cat chooses to put in an appearance on the porch across the street from mine. It’s wise to have the leashes as insurance. A couple of blue plastic cleanup bags went into another pocket; I am nothing if not a responsible dog owner.

We trotted briskly, trying to warm up, down the long block to the park. The sun was barely peeking above the Grand Mesa but the neighborhood was already disgorging commuter cars from tiny garages. Many neighbors were already long gone, their commutes taking them as far as Glenwood Springs or Aspen—some even driving the long haul to Denver. I was fortunate enough to have only a five-minute drive. Some days I even walked to work.

As we entered the park grounds I could see Evan Lignaro, marathoner and neighborhood hunk, stretching before his morning run. Ah, Evan, such a black hole of disappointment to me and all the other women in my neighborhood. Lovely to look at, he’s completely unavailable. Totally devoted to his long-time partner Alan Lane, he’s lived here for over five years. I still enjoy watching Evan’s morning stretches, though, as one enjoys a beautiful painting in a museum, with full knowledge that she will never get any closer to it than the visitor’s walkway.

Riding Motorcycles in Winter

When I lived in Grand Junction, we rode motorcycles mostly all winter. Now, I never was one of those seriously die-hard riders--like the folks in Minnesota who affix spikes to their tires and head out into the white stuff to play--who waxes fearless in the face of contaminated road surfaces, but the cold didn't seem like too much of a problem.

Some riders--like Jude Hayes--prefer to suspend riding when it gets cold. Others prefer to keep riding and take advantage of heated clothing and heated bike surfaces--such as heated grips and even heated seats, but the "adventure rider" crowd positively embraces the idea. Better have a beefy alternator and battery to deal with all those electrons the heated vest, and heated grips, and even heated socks slurp up. It's a lot like cell phone data plans--it's easy to use up your allotment before you know it.

I've had several BMWs and all of them came with heated grips. Worked great. I've used Velcro-secured heated grips on other bikes, too. I've been a fan of the heated vest, also. Other than that, I'm pretty old-school. Thermal underwear. Jackets with good liners--and armor, of course. A nylon balaclava under my helmet--a full-face helmet with a breath shield. Warm socks and thick riding boots. I found a couple insulated riding suits that weren't too bulky--Harley makes a great line for that, as do dozens of other moto clothing companies. The challenge is wearing enough to stay warm, without degrading your mobility on the bike to the point that it becomes a safety issue.

It takes a couple of cold seasons and lots of trial-and-error to find the right clothing for the job. After a while, you get so you can look at the thermometer and know exactly which clothes and how many to wear for the day's ride. Always bring motorcycle luggage so you can store clothing shed at the lunch stop.

The great thing about Grand Junction is that when the cold comes to the Grand Valley, you can don the aforementioned duds and still keep riding. In upstate New York, cold-weather riding is more problematic. First of all, we have leaves. And I mean LOTS of leaves. If you've never been to the Northeast, you can hardly believe how many species of deciduous trees thrive here. When leaves meet road, usually after a rainstorm, they make an extremely slippery surface. And a non-uniform one, at that.

You'll be happily motoring along that damp road and round a corner to sail into a huge patch of wet leaves plastered all over the road. Hopefully you didn't take that corner too fast! I realize that Colorado has leaves, too--from pretty aspens and cottonwoods--but it's like saying the heat is the same in Ohio as it is in Death Valley. We have LEAVES here. They down a lot of bikes every year.

Compared to New York and New England, the Western Slope is a delightfully dry place. Our relative humidity tends to be much higher here--not like Florida, but higher. Think "black ice." Yes, it can form anywhere, but it's much more likely to form in a humid climate. When you ride below the freezing point--or even if bridges and other normally cold surfaces dip below 32 degrees, but the air temperature is higher--black ice can form. And you know what? It likes to hide under, you guessed it, those infernal leaves!

Our snow is more persistent, too. It can snow a couple inches on Junction in the morning, and by afternoon, the roads can be dry--the snow just sublimates--goes right from a solid to a gas. Not in New York. It hangs around, slowly melting and refreezing that night. Sometimes after the first snow, the roads never really get clear again for the rest of the winter. Even if the snow goes away temporarily, there is another problem.

We have EVIL road salt. When the road needs to be de-iced, Colorado favors magnesium chloride. Sure, it's an ugly black slime on your windshield as you head over Vail Pass, but when the snow is over, mag chloride dries up and blows away. Not so in the Northeast. We have the nastiest road salt on the planet. It stains the roads bright white, it clings, it lingers, and boy howdy is it corrosive!

New Yorkers tend to winterize the bike and tuck it into the garage with a cover and a battery tender come the first application of road salt. For some reason, when we do have a lull in the snow, most towns and cities don't bother to send out the street sweepers and police up the salt. They wait until, like, May, usually, causing me to start growling in March that it's time to get on with the job.

When the winter holidays come, dress warm, ride safe, and contemplate with pity those of us whose bikes are relegated to snoozing peacefully in the garage while we try to alleviate cabin fever with mere sleds up in the Adirondacks. When I was a kid, we called them snowmobiles . . . but that's a post for another time. I'm definitely becoming an old lady--but hey, then I can be just like A.J. Pierpont! Well, maybe like A.J. but a few billion dollars lighter. . ..

Here's our Jude Hayes quote for the day:

“Holidays are just one big diet disaster to you, aren’t they, Jude?”

“I prefer to think of them as celebratory opportunities.” I patted my waistline, aware that by Christmas I might be shopping for new jeans. Hmm. Maybe no joke there. Oh well. There was always the long winter to lose the extra holiday pounds before bathing suit season. Oh, wait—I hadn’t donned one of those things in years. The only gauge that really matters to me is whether I feel like a bratwurst stuffed into my motorcycle leathers by the time riding season rolls around in the spring.

Lunar Eclipse - Where Business Meets Astrology & Astronomy

It's amazing how easily distracted I allow myself to be prior to sitting down to write my blog. I had a nice canned topic all ready--I'm reading a business guru's book about ditching your old way of working and starting new projects powered by the Internet--and I thought I'd kick that around for a while. But with just a quick pass through the kitchen and a glance at the calendar, I decided to junk that topic. Flighty, fickle blogger.

Anyway, I'm fond of both astronomy and astrology, but I've never taken the time to pursue them as hobbies. Every once in a while I pick up an interesting layman's tidbit, however. I bought a bargain astronomy calendar last December with plenty of gorgeous pictures of planets, galaxies, nebulae, and other heavenly bodies. I also bought the aforementioned, not-so-cheap, kitchen calendar that gives the movements of nearly everything in our solar system and a few astrological implications of same.

Today I noticed that the Earth, the Moon, and the big nuclear furnace which we orbit had a penumbral lunar eclipse planned for tonight--apparently that's where the Moon passes through the lighter part of the Earth's shadow. It's not as dramatic as an umbral eclipse where the Moon more or less goes dark. The Moon just sort of turns a funny color in this one.

Those are reasonable facsimiles of indisputable scientific facts about the eclipse. But the astrologically-informed calendar had some no doubt disputable comments which were much more fun. In my admittedly limited understanding of astrology, it seems that when celestial bodies move, it influences the people living on this planet. I've always rather believed that's true. Just ask any law enforcement or corrections officer, first responder, or emergency room staffer about the full Moon and they'll tell you that it makes people a little crazy.

While the movements of the other planets in our solar system--and their satellites--have significant influences on our lives, so say the astrological sages, it looks to me like the Sun and Moon are often the biggest players in the game. The nightly phases of the Moon matter a lot, but an eclipse--well, an eclipse is a real biggy!

Now is you're an astrologer, or astrologically savvy, please don't call me mean names--or I get to use the delete button--for trying to make simpleton generalizations about this eclipse stuff--but I read a few astrologers' blogs and gleaned that this eclipse is about changes coming. Almost like New Year's, it's about saying good-bye to old disappointments and no longer useful ways of doing things and ushering in a new energy to move forward positively in new directions, maybe dusting off some old dreams and dreaming new ones.

Their comments reminded me of what the business guy was saying about making over your working life to fit your dreams--and not the other way around. So when you see that big ol', weird-colored moon out there tonight, let's hope that it gives us all a nudge in the direction of our dreams. And if it sends some of us toward the business guru's province, may it make us all as prosperous as A.J. Pierpont, the eighty-something billionaire industrial magnate in Remover of Obstacles!

Here's the partial scene-for-the-day from Remover of Obstacles:

My desk phone pealed and I picked it up without thinking. “Jude Hayes Investigations.”

"Jude, It’s A.J. I’m on my way back from Aspen. Elizabeth and Gisela are with me. We need to speak with you as soon as possible,” she said, her voice unusually strained. 

“Hi, A.J. Would you like to come to the office?”

“Yes, dear, that will be fine. We’ll see you in a little over an hour.” She   disconnected. 

Ming raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“A.J.’s on her way here from Aspen with Bethie and Gisela. She sounded wigged out.”

                 “Like I said, Boss, there’s a bad moon rising.”

“You’re starting to sound way too much like Clicker and Jasmine.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Ming’s iPhone suddenly played Credence Clearwater’s—you guessed it—Bad Moon Rising—and he scowled at the number. “It’s Clicker.”

Grand Junction Weather Versus "The Permanent Low"

Here I sit, the Grand Junction, Colorado ex-pat, living in upstate New York, watching another winter turn final approach for a landing in my back yard. It's been a very mild fall, so far. But the tentative little cold fronts which come knocking every so often are an ominous reminder of what is to come. Most of the leaves and giant falling walnuts are down in my yard, and a cold rain has been predicted for tonight. Time for the red dog and me to hunker down on the couch with a fleece throw and a bowl of popcorn to watch an old movie. Hmm. Reminds me of a scene from the book.

The generally lovely autumn weather in Grand Junction cannot be mentioned in the same breath as fall in upstate New York, when we begin to see the influence of a habitual weather system camping between here and Lake Ontario which I have nicknamed "the permanent low." However, there are occasional exceptions to Junction's fortunate weather. I wrote about one in the aforementioned scene from Remover of Obstacles, Chapter 9.

Jude and her two beloved dogs, Rachel and Decker--a Pit Bull and a Doberman, respectively, are riding with her on the way home from work and grocery shopping.

The early evening was shaping up to be just flat nasty tonight, though, as the dogs and I motored toward home. …The rain had been coming down heavily for a while now and the wind was lashing big drops against my windshield. A few branches were down here and there—might lose power tonight, I mused, dodging a giant tumbleweed. The huge puddles made me fear for all the people who lived up unpaved canyon roads, where this much rain could touch off dangerous mudslides. It almost seemed cold enough for wet snow, too. Geez, it was only October.

I was glad to pull into my small garage, but I figured I should give the dogs a brief potty break before we went inside for supper. …I took them no farther than the adjacent weed-grown lot where they completed their mission in record time. They fully understand the concept of sooner done, sooner inside.

I let them run back into the garage where they proceeded to shake as if they were trying to dislodge nuclear fallout. I remoted the garage door down and followed them to the kitchen door. Decker fairly fell into the kitchen as I unlocked and opened the door, Rachel right behind him. Such brave souls.

“You guys will not be very effective guard dogs if the burglars bring squirt guns.” I reached for a handful of paper towels and began to dry them off, a practice of which they highly approve.

“And did I mention that you two smell just lovely? I can’t believe I’m trapped here with you all night.” I grinned foolishly. I love my dogs and I love my little home.

“Beds!” I called, tossing two dog biscuits in the general direction of the living room. The treats barely touched the floor as they were scooped up immediately and spirited away to doggie lairs.

In a rare moment of organization last week, I had collected a small bundle of kindling, some split logs, and those long fireplace matches—all from the supermarket. I dug these out of a cupboard and looked around the living room. An unexpectedly fortuitous result of my limited housekeeping skills, last week’s Sunday paper still lay on the coffee table, thus completing the necessary incendiary ingredients for a fire in the stove.

“All right, doggies, we’ll have a warm home tonight.” Already napping in her bed, Rachel raised a pink nose and sniffed delicately. I interpreted this as an inquiry as to when supper could be expected. Decker, even more tightly curled in his bed, merely cocked one brown eye, then stuck his nose under a paw. They looked a little chilly, I thought, immediately sympathetic. Lately I’d been leaving the heat turned way down when I was at work, and the condo had a serious chill going. The rain splattering the windows didn’t help, either. I began to load the stove.

Soon, snapping kindling gave way to a dull roaring up the chimney and the glass window on the stove glowed merrily. I had bought a fragrant balsam candle in Jasmine’s shop which I lit and set on a small wall shelf I’d recently hung for this purpose. Not exactly a fancy sconce arrangement, but it was actually rather impressive for me. Besides, as the wooden plaque in my kitchen proclaims, “Martha Stewart doesn’t live here.” I completed the cozy scene by dropping the Japanese rice paper blinds against the growing darkness. The living room glowed with a soft golden light.

      Not ten minutes had passed before I was outfitted in my old college sweats and comfortably ensconced on the “lazy couch” with a cup of green tea and flanked by both dogs who were squeezing me in a doggie vise. The stove was burning evenly, the pasta bubbled happily on the stove, the TV was muted on the news as I skimmed the newspaper, and an old fleece throw covered my legs which were propped up on the coffee table. An inviting smell of balsam floated through the air. It was the perfect night to stay home, put any worries about my business aside, and really relax in my safe haven. Tension melted out of my spine until all my muscles and joints felt loose. Jude the Rag Doll. It was a rare feeling.

                                                                            --Remover of Obstacles, Chapter 9