A couple of weeks ago, I posted a picture of one of our dogwood trees that was blooming much earlier than expected because of (don’t make me say “climate change” or I’ll puke) an early Spring around here.

This weekend, Palestine, Texas will celebrate the first of three weekends of Dogwood Trail Days.  To give you an idea of how the canine-trees are doing, here’s an update look at the one off to the side of the shop carport…

There are lots of other reasons to come to Palestine, Texas.  I mean, other than seeking an autograph of….er….well the lines don’t usually get too long until about 9 AM.

There is the Red Hot Chili Pepper deal, but more to my taste is the upcoming April 29th Palestine Community Yard Sale in the Palestine Mall parking lot.

I like going to such things, not because we need any more “stuff” than we have.  But it’s always interesting to see what people have that they’ve grown tired of.  I think of it as a social anthropology self-guided field research project.

Now About Abductions…

Other events around out little berg today include (and I didn’t make this up) is the second day of the “Extraterrestrial Abductions Day” marked with a 5K and a 10K run.  Must be true because it’s in the local paper over here including a word about the “glow in the dark” medal given out to runners.

There are some people who might think this is all in good fun, but I had a personal encounter with a (something-or-other) alien when I was in in high school.  And yes, running sounded like a very good idea at the time.

Don’t know as I’ve ever told you the story, but I’d been working (even then) on ham radio antennas that lit up fluorescent light bulbs.  If you haven’t figured out what UV light, high voltage electricity, and radio-frequency energy have to do with one-another, then you haven’t generalized much about the Philadelphia Experiment, have you?

Back to the story:  I had taken a nap.  I had moved into the basement of my parent’s house some months earlier and my Dad and I had run a 220V circuit over to my “basement bedroom/ham shack/lab” to power a big linear amplifier I’d cobbled up.

So there I was, napping on a Saturday afternoon I think it was – tired from chasing DX into the wee hours – and I woke up about 3:45.

There – standing in the doorway to my room – was a very alien looking guy with the usual big eyes, greyish-green scaley skin, and an iridescent quilted-looking vest.  Across his chest was an odd weapon.  It is – to this day – the scariest thing that has happened in my life.

A couple of weeks back I sketched it up as it came up in a conversation with Elaine.

I wasn ‘t happy with the sketch because there was something canine-like about his face..beginnings of snout?  Perhaps.

I sure wish he’d let me look at his weapon:  Something like a rifle, but coils and clear plastic of some kind and all shiny metalwork. Portable railgun, maybe?

Unfortunately, he was pissed at me (no idea why) and turned looking over his left shoulder (if that’s what they call it) and announced to a second one of these freakzoid things that “This one MUST DIE!”

I screamed…but nothing came out.

Fast forward 51-years and I still haven’t been as frightened as I was that day.

Sure, I’ve covered anti-war riots – front lines where the gas was – and faced emotional stresses that run the gamut from mean attorneys to an inadvertent spin in an airplane on my first solo flight.  Yeah, I know what scared is.

This what the whole – down in the pit of your soul permanent demon kind of scared.  Not the kind of scared that can’t follow you into the Hereafter.  These things had that visceral kind of sense about them.  Demons?  Be a fine term for ‘em, for sure.

But here – today of all days – I noticed this bit about the Extraterrestrial Abductions Day run and found it to be an odd enough coinkydink that I thought I’d mention that even today, running from this little P.O.S. was the finest idea ever.  Except, he was in the only door into my room.

They (the weaponized whatever) and his sidekick who I only heard something like a chirp from and as they did so, they shut my bedroom door.

About 2-minutes after they’d left, I got up the nerve to open the door – and of course – no sign of them.  I found my voice and yelled to the upstairs mom and sisters.

“Just a bad dream…”

Hell no.  Not at that level of detail. Metalic iridescent blue-green (going off to gold) waffle-weave?  Uh…no.  I was a creative kid and all, but weapon?  Clothes? Far too real, although I’ve done a lot of dream work…that’s cool and all, but there’s still a line between “lucid” and “holy shit, this is the real deal…” Where we lived – on the side of Seattle’s Beacon Hill – was mostly woods.  Maple trees for the most part – so if you were from another place, it would be an ideal spot for comings and goings.  Up above where Interstate 4 runs from downtown to the old Rainier Brewery.

Of course, there was no sign of anything.  I knew there wouldn’t be.

If I were to speculate – based on  all the reading and research I’ve done over the years, there is something to this alien/demon stuff.  Science Fiction has been a great – almost laughably simple – ploy for these critters to keep humans off their track.

All they needed to do was plant some “space travel” ideas and presto!  Dump apes on this rock will go wherever the herd points.

But the evidence – when you go through something like this or read widely – is that it’s much more likely to be a dimensional rip of some kind.  And those?

One of the reasons our little anti-gravity research project here at the ranch is so interesting is that there are dirt simple questions that I can’t see anyone as having ever tested before.

Take coils and frequencies.  Sure:  Tesla, Marconi, RCA…yada, yada.  But have you ever considered that at the interference zone between three or more sources, there might be some yet-to-be discovered phenomena?

No?

I remember what Louis L’Amour told me once:  When he was writing his westerns, there were still placed in the American West where you could go out on the High Plains and still see the ruts from where wagons had gone through half a century (and more) earlier.

Always meant something to me:  That apes like us tend to do repetitive motions much easier and more frequently than original thinking.

That could launch me into a longish discussion about how Social Media is such a brilliant diversion of the masses from original work and breakthrough thinking.

It’s wagon ruts.

But run into an alien, demon, or a whatever, and you, too, will find yourself running full-speed every day.

You want to have as many tricks up your sleave  as possible should they come looking for a harvest.

They are malevolent little shits and not to be trusted.  Which is one reason, perhaps, that I’d just as soon not live in “targetable” towns.

Ure Versus Yard

This week the lawn got its first haircut of the year.  It was a comedy of errors.

Got the air compressor out to pump up the tires and the extension didn’t quite reach.  By inches.

Thankfully, it started easily.  A little avgas saved from the plane was a blessing.  None of the instant varnish methanol crap.

But then I ran over a runaway piece of fencing.

The mower has three blades and it wrapped around all of them.

So out of gear, down to a shady spot in the driveway.  Idea was to use the bucket loader on the big tractor to hoist up the front of the riding mower – which worked like a champ.

But not before having to slap a temporary fix on the big tractor:  Big top 3-point pin had come out and was in hiding somewhere in the south 16 acres.

With the big tractor back in commission, it was then easy-peasy to cut enough wire away from the bolts and remove the blades.

Out with the wire – back on with the blades and for the next three hours it was mowing my little heart out.

Followed by a hot shower (dusty as hell so it was like getting mud off) and a snooze and gee…going to be like this for the next how many weeks?

Owning property is always cited by real estate salespersons (housing pimps) as the best investment you can make.

While that may be true with dollars, it’s not with sense:  Our yards own us from now to about November.

The one retirement joy I’m taking now is applying that weed ‘n feed fertilizer that just screws on the hose and covers 5000 square feet.  To hell with the bags and the fertilizer spreader.

I want to own the yard, not have it owning me.

Say hi to your first dandelion for us.

Write when you get rich, too.

George@ure.net

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