Coffee Press

So.......I drink coffee like I used to drink alcohol. Last month, I was off to a gathering of 200 plus Elders for the long weekend, and I bought a coffee press. A less-than "primo" grocery store model that allows grounds to float in the top of my cup. I channel my "tea leaf mystic" and come up with with the same answer as I ponder the meaning of the floating coffee grounds. The answer is always, "drink me, sleepwalker."

Funny thing about coffee, as I drank it as a child for what was then called hyperactivity, which is now labeled ADD and ADHD, the prescription mostly amphetamines. Had more than my share of those little white pills in years gone by now.....remembering the TV commercial of two eggs in a frying pan, "this is your brain on drugs. Any questions?"

Coffee is BIG here in the Northwest. Howard Schultz, creator and king of Starbucks. I fill my diaper at the concept of five bucks for a cup of high octane with all the "foo foo" as my friend Sawyer calls it. His description began as "Loon's foofullated coffee", as I shortened it. Presently my "foofoo" is Hazelnut liquid creamer. When I do the "Starbucks Experience", I drink house coffee, flinching at the fact that what used to be cents is now dollars. Good atmosphere and music takes out the sting.

My adeptness at building coffee is journeyman level with a touch of "mad chemist." The christening of my coffee press was so very simple in the process that my brain was struggling to comprehend it's meaning. As I pressed down the plunger, my inner addict felt the rush a drug addict feels, anticipating while spooning his fix. In recovery it is called mental masturbation. One of the perks of living a clean and sober lifestyle, another chapter of my life......



StevenLoon

Just be a head gasket......

So.......under the hood we go. Spud is assisting, pointing and shooting as I spin the wrenches. He has first hand knowledge and experience at what we are about to do. Funny how it turns around, rescuing the rescuer. This is a hard piece of work for me to do. There are more reasons not to do this than to proceed. Surprised I slept through the night. Yet I know when our two brains begin the job in a couple of hours, we will be magnificent.

Thirty years ago, I worked in a control fabrication shop. The owner's son and I were good friends. He worked one weekend on his old Ford pickup, changing head gaskets and the related items, which include exhaust manifold gasket, valve cover gaskets, draining and refilling fluids....it can get busy.

He showed up at work on Monday proud of his work. At lunchtime he was filling his truck at the company gas pump. A few men wandered over and he popped the hood to show off his workmanship. I snuck up and crawled under the engine and as he started it up, I began tapping on the frame rapidly with a rock. I could see their faces, they not mine. The best "Oh Shit" expressions I have ever seen. Mine looked that way yesterday I'm sure. Lot's of laughter at the relief of my prank. My turn now.

The timing of this so very much sucks for me, yet I know there are no accidents in life. I am grateful for the roof I am under, and the ability to sit here and write my life. I am in better shape than some, worse than others. Flloyd would say, "right where you're sposed to be".
For example, men were spanked on the staff list this morning for missing the phone bridge staff meeting. One man's excuse that I read a few minutes ago was that he was diagnosed with kidney cancer a few day ago. He checked out of the weekend. Pray for "Young Bear",
Perry Sims.

Perry had a man physically attack him a couple of months back as he used the man's driveway to turn around in while lost on his motorcycle. He told the man in court that he would drop the charges if the man does the NWTA. The man is coming to the weekend.
Fucking amazing how this thing we do reaches men.

Got to go light up the garage now and slip into something less comfortable. Coveralls.

Love and Laughter, with a few tears.

Loon




--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Boing

I worked at Boeing for a little over a year, about a decade ago. Production line on the big one. I look back on the experience in amazement of the worlds largest human worker beehive. I will speak to the fun stuff as it was mostly hard work as well as an exercise in tolerance as I was forced to slow my pace, as my pace has always been fast. First day on the job, a man told me to slow down, that I was making them all look bad. I told him to speed up. I was soon surrounded by a crew of those who agreed with him. We had words. Mostly profane.

We all soon became fast friends. This work was all they knew, most of them grandfathered in. I took a huge pay cut to work there, seven ten hour days a week to compensate. As I had a trade and about 30 jobs in my resume, I was free to leave anytime. They were stuck in the hive. My plan eventually failed and I moved on.

There was a small man they called "the little bastard", and he filled those shoes. As they were all devious, he was the prince. As a frozen rivet was delivered in a steel box full of nitrogen pellets one morning to fill an oversize hole, a two liter bottle was produced by Mike. He dropped a pellet in the bottle which contained a few inches of water, screwed on the lid and threw it in the chute which led to to a dumpster on the factory floor. The crew started counting as they peeked from the structure. In less than 20 seconds a huge boom blew most of the debris out of the dumpster. A Quality Assurance man standing nearby dropped his clipboard as a few pigeons and dust fell from the rafters. Then it was back to work as if nothing happened, full blast rock and roll on a boom box amidst the riveting. Double hearing protection a must. Marshmallow earplugs beneath headphone style noise protection.

The teamwork there was incredibly strong. The integrity of the product speaks for itself as pride in workmanship was genuine. A lot of down time between delegated processes and restocking stores for the next line move. Therefore, time to plot and plan the next devious episode. One morning a zip lock bag of "doggie doo" came out of a pocket and was passed around for inspection. "The Little Bastard" was elected and with his latex gloves, he deftly packed a managers desktop phone mouthpiece, neatly beneath the speaker. He then called him from afar on his cell phone. All were peeking as he answered. All laughing as he held the mouthpiece far from his face, which was suddenly scrunched into a gagging scowl. A short time later, facilities replaced the phone. This process was repeated once more that day with the same results. The crew, congratulatory and satisfied in their successful assault on management, lounged and talked about the next notch in their collective belt.

In all of the jobs I have held in the electrical industry, Boeing was by far the most edgy and counterproductive as far as management and blue collar working in harmony. I will say I learned a lot, yet I was lied to when I was hired and promises were not kept. So many stories......another time.

StevenLoon

Fwd: The Blacksmith

So......Dad worked with steel all his life. After the war, he and another man opened a Smithy in Firth, Idaho. I came along 10 years later and life began in Pocatello, where T.L. "Buzz" Tracy was Superintendent at Gate City Steel, a huge fabrication facility. A land of agriculture, mostly potatoes, sugar beets, and phosphate fertilizer, all being the dynasty of the potato King, J.R. Simplot. At the end of his life, Buzz was a blacksmith again, playing songs on his anvils and hammers supported by McNaughton's whiskey in the Quonset behind where he retired in Soda Springs. Home of the natural soda geyser that he capped and regulated with a timer, which goes off every hour on the hour. One can witness this out the back door of Stockman's Bar after having a drink with Buzz, telling war stories....

Buzz could do amazing things with steel, much like a master carpenter with wood. It was so easy for him to throw a welder in his truck and fix a farmer's harvest machine, or snowmobile in return for a bottle and a key to a gate to some of the best stream fishing and hunting on the planet. He had an impressive ring of keys as well a cases of McNaughton's in the Quonset. Listen to the anvils sing....

Dad had 144 medics in his command. When the U.S. stormed into Germany, he and his medics were the first into the death camps. After the war, he would go into bouts of crying where my mother would tell him to "be a man." Mom was a self absorbed and often heartless woman. Dad drank and worked himself to an early death. I miss him as I look at his picture, above my monitor. I am so very grateful he is in me, more so than mother.

As I visited him a few months before his death, 30 below wind chill on the flats of Southeast Idaho, he was a wisp of a man wearing his familiar Red Wing work boots to give him stability. (to this day, my sister wears those boots around the house) He and I spent hours talking about his life. I bundled him up and drove him around town. Visiting old friends of his as he "showed off" his youngest son. The hippie kid from Seattle. Most of these folks were "good Mormons" , as he and I were born into that. Dad pulled us out of the church as he did not agree with the straight and narrow path they prescribed. Two of his brothers were Bishops and he loved them, but told them to "Fuck Off" when they would take another run at him. He spoke his common sense voice, which always made common sense to me. I know I channel him as I show up in the world. I feel him. Feel him now as I write.

I remember hunting once with him. Sitting on some rocks, eating a sandwich with our vest bags full of Sage Hen. As we ate, he took out an ordinary slingshot, and took the head off a grouse that was sitting 20 feet away. His ammo was half-inch steel slugs, punched out from quarter inch steel plate. He was lethal with a slingshot. Over the years, I always sent him the latest technology, as he had a variety of Wrist Rockets and the like. His favorite was a pistol grip I sent him. It had a rubber condom looking chamber that would hold a few or more BB's, which gave it a shotgun effect. He would sit on his deck with a mouthful of BB's and wait for the neighborhood cats to come around the can of Tuna. He and McNaughton's......

It has been just over 12 years now since his passing. I went to the New Warrior Weekend 3 weeks after his death. He came to me there on Sunday, in the darkness. He came to me last night in the darkness of the Lodge I attended with the Squaxin. He always hugs me from behind when we sing the "calling in" songs. I am so very grateful for his presence of Spirit for I know his works through me as many others. I never saw him cry until the end. I played him a song on my CD player, headphones on his head. Father And Son, by Cat Stevens. He asked to hear it again and we both cried, but just briefly. And then he told for the first time in his life, "I love you Son."


I love you Dad,

StevenLoon "Knothead"

Fwd: The Wind

So......Sitting outside and hour ago in the dark stillness, stars brilliant watching a satellite track the sky. The wind came up briefly as if to say "good morning", then stillness. I close my eyes as my coffee steams and listen to nothing. Morning meditation, listening to God, Spirit...as I understand or don't understand. The answers always come most clearly in the still......The wind returned in a short puff and my eyes opened.

I remember a time in my very early twenties, snowmobiling with a friend, outside Pocatello. In the mountains, making our own tracks in the new snow. Nipping on blackberry brandy laughing. Mike was a lineman and had a couple of pairs of pole climbing spikes. We went up a couple of "Old Ones" until the branches stopped us, tied off to the branches and tossed the bota bag back and forth. Able to see for a hundred miles in the clear air on the mountain top with a pleasant buzz from the brandy and green veggie matter we smoked, the wind came up.

At first the laughter as we hung on, swaying slowly in the same direction. The gusts became constant and windblown snow was in a flurry all around us, instant ice on the mustache is a good indicator to get out of the wind. Mike's tree made a loud crack as our weight made the wooden horse top heavy. The mutual vision of screaming men on broken treetops, poofing into the snowdrifts brought our eyes together. Without saying the word "down", we took the express elevator. The wind stopped as soon as the drunken laughing snow angels were made on the snow near those trees. Not to mention yellow snow.

I have always paused and listened to the wind. There is so much to hear.........


Loon







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Fwd: Falling Leaves.....

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So........my favorite season as the air is crisp and cool, landscape on fire with color. Wanna go play in the leaves soon. Remembering Ravenna Park in North Seattle. Hiding under a pile of leaves, hiding from Kodi, my Malamute. He's sniffed me out as I grabbed his leg and the wrestling and rolling would echo through the park. Kodi was a wonderful dog. His mom and dad were sled dogs. Their human, an Iditarod musher. When I first saw him, the other pups hid in the doghouse as he stepped forward and gave me a little wolf howl. He picked me and home we went.

Kodi became an alcoholic by accident. As I lay on the front lawn after work one day with a glass of 100 proof Yukon Jack and ice next to me, I dozed off. His drunken licks on my face woke me as I watch his legs buckle and fold. "Ah shit", as I stuck my finger down his throat and called the vet. He slept through the night and was lethargic the next day. He went to work with me daily and grew into a beautiful black and white goofus. Malamutes are quarter Wolf and have a rowdy, roaming personality. A drunken one is a bit of a thug, more so at 100 pounds, a pound of that being his balls. Kodi had balls.

He's sit on a barstool at the tavern and drink beer from an ashtray, get rowdy and steal the cue ball from the hole in the end of the pool table and run. He was fun until one day he killed a family of Possum in the back yard and got the taste of blood. He went over the edge of meanness then. One morning as he snarled at our Great Pyrenees, Molly, keeping her from her food dish, I pushed him away and he lunged at me and I had to smack him out of it. My choices were cut his balls off, intensive inpatient for alcohol, put a bullet in his head, or give him to my ex-wife. The ex took him and he killed two Standard Poodles in her neighborhood. The judge ruled 3 options. Get him out of King County, cut his balls off and relocate him, door number three was death. Off came the balls and Kodi lived happily with a Gay couple downtown Seattle.

OK.......leaves are falling. I miss my back porch, morning coffee watching the Maple's fall from the grove. The beautiful carpet of leaves blanketing the ground around the Lodge. Sitting this morning on my new front porch, a garden of shrubs filled with Steller's Jays, noisily taking my gifts of peanuts. As the perch and flap, leaves fall. Little green ones turning yellow. The lake like a mirror, across the street. A few days ago, a flash of white on the lake as I focused to see a Bald Eagle (Wambli) lifting off the water clutching a nice trout. I am so very grateful for my life in the now. My reflection of the then's, and the possibility that tomorrow will come gently as my life slows a bit now. Time for self care much needed.



Loon