Grungy deer

The local deer population is in that awkward stage of shedding their gray winter fur and putting on their reddish summer coat. The result are some very grungy-looking deer.

Honestly, it looks like they're collectively suffering from some sort of skin (fur?) disorder.

I suspect it's an itchy process, since I see them grooming themselves often.

But this, too, shall pass, and within a month they'll be a sleek reddish color.

And if the girth of some of these ladies are any indication, we'll be awash in fawns as well.

Meanwhile, one enterprising doe managed to nibble the tip of a blueberry, the little thief.

Grungy indeed.

Tweet tweet

I've hired a marketing consultant for my romance writing. His name is Don and I sleep with him every night.

Seriously, that's one aspect of writing that has eluded me, namely the marketing side. Frankly I don't have the time or interest, which of course is counterproductive if I want to sell books. Don's much more of a go-getter in that regard, so he's stepping up to help my fiction writing get greater exposure.

His first task was to set me up a Twitter account. It can be found here.

So I have two requests, dear readers. One, if you're so inclined, please follow me on Twitter. If you see a post you like, please re-tweet it.

And two, let Don know what other marketing tactics he should employ. This is kinda new to both of us, so we could use all the help anyone can offer.

Tweet tweet!

Gradually, then suddenly

An interesting piece came out a few weeks ago on the Sovereign Man website entitled "We're done with 'gradually.' We've now reached the 'suddenly' part."

The article opens by discussing the mathematical concept of logarithms.

He also reviews "logarithmic decay": "The idea behind logarithmic decay is that something declines very, very slowly at first. But, over a long period of time, the rate of decline becomes faster… and faster… and faster. If you look at it on a graph, logarithmic decay basically looks like a horizontal line that almost imperceptibly arcs gently downwards. But eventually the arc downward becomes steeper and steeper until it’s practically a vertical line down."

Think of a river right before a waterfall.

The article states: "In fact logarithmic decay is great way to describe social and financial decline. Even the rise and fall of superpowers are often logarithmic in scale. The Kingdom of France in the 1700s infamously fell gradually… then suddenly. We can see the same logarithmic decay in the West today, and specifically the United States. The deterioration of government finances has been gradual, then sudden. Social conflict, censorship, and the decline in basic civility has been gradual, then sudden. Even the loss of confidence in the U.S. dollar has been gradual… and is poised to be sudden."

This mathematical concept is summarized in "The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway (a book I've never read) on going bankrupt: "Gradually, then suddenly."

Right now, on the surface, everything seems fine. We just traveled to California to see my parents and spent days on the road without an issue. All of us are working our regular jobs without a problem.

But underneath, there are odd and uneasy undercurrents. There's a lot of stuff swirling around in the air: financially, politically, and legally. The Rule of Law has been suspended in many areas, and a lot of cities are descending into unlivable chaos. There is a lot of uncertainty regarding the future.

The Sovereign Man's thesis is we can't tell where we are on the logarithmic curve. We could have a long slow slope ahead of us, or we could be teetering on the precipice. However, his conclusion is we are at the "suddenly" part.

What I get from this piece is the need to become independent, as much as possible, for all our needs. This isn't always easy or even possible (just ask my very elderly parents), but it should be the goal of everyone. The more independent we are of these swirling currents of unease, the better.

Just some random thoughts as I work on multiple writing deadlines.

Road trip home, Day 3

I apologize for the blog silence of the last few days. I got plunged into a morass of work, writing deadlines, and dear friends visiting from our old neighborhood and haven't had a chance to poke my head above the water until today. So without further ado, let me show you the rest of our trip home.

We spent the night, if you recall, in Reno. The very early morning light shone golden, appropriately enough, on the El Dorado Casino kitty-corner across the street from us.

Below our room was a swimming pool, and perched on the wall around that level was a Canada goose and a couple of pigeons.

Younger Daughter and I were eager to get on the road. We left early and promised ourselves we wouldn't stop for food until we hit Winnemucca.

While I wouldn't swap our home in Idaho, I've always liked Nevada. There's something soul-cleansing about the vast stretches and clean lines of the state, especially in the early mornings when the distant mountains shine blue.

The road was vast, but we were refreshed, armed with chai tea, and singing at the top of our lungs to various show tunes.

In such a landscape, the snow-capped mountains were gorgeous.

We passed a passenger train.

We also passed this dramatic wreck of a building, which I remember seeing on the way down. Is it a home? A mining facility? No idea.

We were heading straight for these mountains (I think it was the Stillwater Range, but don't quote me on that), which meant the only option was for the highway to skirt around them. This meant the road curved until we were running parallel to the range.

We passed a vast prison, along with highway signs warning us not to pick up hitchhikers.

Scattered at the base of these hills was a fair number of houses. We wondered how or where they got their water. Wells?

Perhaps, but more likely it was snow runoff. The snow fields were vast...

...and it seemed a lot of buildings were located in logical runoff locations. I wouldn't be surprised if there were reservoirs tucked in those crevices.

This looked like a mining operation of some kind.

A lonely house all by itself.

More views:

The trouble with Nevada, of course, is it's vast. By afternoon we were ready for a change, but more road lay before us.

We crossed into the southeast corner of Oregon and saw the splendid Steen Mountains from a distance.

Younger Daughter petitioned to stop in the small Idaho town of Weiser for a break to stretch our legs and (ahem) to investigate a used book store. By this stage of the journey, I wasn't about to argue.

Weiser was a surprisingly charming little town, caught in a 1950s timewarp.

The bookstore, which we hit just before closing, was splendid. I even found a modern English version of Chaucer, something I've always wanted.

It was going on toward evening by the time we hit the mountains. I made sure to show Younger Daughter the stunning Whitebird Pass vista that had so impressed me on the way down.

It was pretty much full dark by the time we traversed the Camas Prairie, then the Palouse, then climbed into the mountains, and then pulled up – exhausted – to home sweet home. What a trip! Now we can enjoy Younger Daughter's stay for the next couple of weeks.

Road trip home, Day 2

The other touristy thing Younger Daughter wanted to do before leaving California was to see the redwoods, some of the largest trees in the world. My younger brother knows every old-growth redwood grove in the state, and he recommended visiting the Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park as an option that was fairly close by.

So early on Tuesday morning, we shook the dust of that nasty Motel 6 off our feet and crossed the mountains towards the ocean, then found our way to the park.

Redwoods are impressive at the best of times, but old-growth redwoods are on a scale all by themselves.

The entrance to the park had a slab on display indicating how old the tree was when it was cut down. (I'll spare you my thoughts on the tragedy behind logging so many of these massive trees to begin with.) In case you can't read it, one of the marks is the birth of Jesus.

They were doing a great number of controlled burns in the park that morning. According to a passing ranger we spoke to, the fires that ravaged many famous redwood parks a couple years ago scared them into recognizing the need to keep the forest floor clean.

Additionally, the past winter with lots of rain and wind toppled a lot of trees, creating yet more debris on the forest floor, so they were trying to get a handle on the mess.

Redwoods are well-known for growing from the downed remains of older trees, often resulting in such massive marvels as this triple-trunked granddaddy. (Fence for scale.)

Ironically, redwoods are designed to survive wildfires. That's why so many have burned out hollow bases inside an otherwise perfectly healthy tree.

We walked around for a couple hours, gaping at the beauty.

There was a tourist train that ran through the area, but we didn't feel like paying $40 apiece for that privilege, so we just photographed the tracks.

This sign gives a reference to the scale of various trees.

(Note the tiny T-rex at the bottom.)

Eventually we had to put the park behind us and hit the road.

Our destination for the night was Reno. To get there, of course, we had to fight our way through Bay Area traffic, an excellent reminder of why the heck we don't live in the Bay Area. Seriously, it's a culture shock to get sucked into this morass of a complicated highway system and millions of vehicles. Eventually we made our way over the Altamont Pass and connected to Hwy. 5 heading toward Sacramento.

Younger Daughter wanted to make a quick stop at an art-supply store in Sacramento before taking Hwy. 80 over the mountains. We hit the state capital – no surprise – during rush-hour traffic.

After the art store, we got on the highway again to cross the Sierras. I'd forgotten how breathtaking the drive was.

Over the crest of the mountains, we headed into some seriously dark clouds. Yes, those are clouds, not mountains.

Fortunately the rain we drove through wasn't as bad as the clouds looked. We made it into Reno around dusk.

We also realized we had gone from the ocean to the forest to the plains to the mountains to the desert – in one day's drive!

We'd booked a room at the Silver Legacy Resort for the night.

One advantage of staying in a gambling town like Reno is the excellent deals available on hotel rooms (since they assume you'll spend money gambling). For about the same price as that dumpy Motel 6, we stayed in opulent surroundings on the eighth floor.

We had dinner in the casino, and afterward walked around looking at the over-the-top décor.

The hotel lobby had a display case with historic crystal and silver items inside, a hat tip to its name of Silver Legacy Resort.

But what caught my attention was the antique Persian rugs. Gold and silver threads, massive amounts of jewels ... these rugs were absolute jaw-dropping works of art. Photos can't do them justice.

We finally tumbled into bed, ready to finish up with the trip the next day.