30% Solution

I spent most of the evening traveling the local highways and I noticed that regular gasoline in our area has suddenly jumped to $3.85 / gallon.  No doubt companies like Exxon and Shell will tell us the price jump is due to the new uncertainties in the Middle East resulting from recent events in Libya.

But is it?

It was not so very long ago, February of 2009 actually, that regular gas was $2.00 / gallon and folks across the nation were appalled that a gallon of regular gas might hit $2.50.

So let's see... from $2.00 to $3.85 in three years.  That puts the inflation rate on gas at something like 30% per year. (Wouldn't you like to see your paycheck increase by 30% per year?)

Are we really supposed to believe the world's gasoline consumption has risen so dramatically over the past 3 years as to warrant an essential doubling in price?

A recent report stated that even with the dramatic increase in price, the average household expenditure on gasoline remains relatively unchanged from previous years - due to increased sales of fuel efficient cars.

Which would mean consumption is dropping (though probably not by as much as is suggested). Which means oil companies adjust prices to make sure they bring in the same revenue regardless of the efforts of people like you and I to reduce the amount of gas we buy.

So why, in all the rhetoric about the crippled housing industry, Wall Street shananagins, and stubborn unemployment, isn't equal attention being paid to gas prices?

The answer of course lies in the unhealthy relationship between Congress and the Exxon's, Shell's, and Mobil's of the world.

I promise lighter fare in my next post - just needed to get this off my chest.

Strategic Placement

Four wooden rocking chairs placed in a semi-circle on the front porch of the row home. That was all it took to communicate a welcoming invitation. What would otherwise have been just a shelter from the elements was transformed to an intimate gathering place by those oak rockers.

I could picture four close friends sharing a bottle a wine and childhood memories. I could imagine laughter as embarrassing moments were relived and tears as lost loved ones were remembered.

There would be hands waving on that porch - greetings offered to recognized passers-by and perhaps even an invitation to join the gang. 

In all of this it occurred to me how little it takes to change any house from a mere structure to a welcoming home.  A hand-knitted afghan draped casually across the back of a couch, a framed sampler hanging in a prominent location on a wall, a vase of flowers in the center of a table, or rocking chairs on a porch - all of these things say someone is glad to live here.

Sun Tilt

With the approach of Post-Summer the morning sun sits lower in the sky as  start my day and I am treated to sights that have been lost in the blaze of a high summer sun.

Low angled rays skid across the surface of lakes, bouncing into windows on the fronts of houses nestled together on the shore, and setting mirrors and picture glass within those homes aglow in a molten yellow.

Forests that had been acres of dark shadow beneath a thick canopy of green are now free of mystery as sunlight slices between trunks and branches to spotlight the birds that flit between trees and the four legged mammals that scurry through the brush.

The golden orb that sits in the center of my windshield is not a nuisance, but a call to pause at a stop sign just long enough to watch the world come to wakefulness. 

And while the late rising sun is a harbinger of less favorable weather to come, it is also a reminder that universal cycles continue and things are as they ought be.

Screech of Terror

A bone-chilling screech brought me to my feet. Heart hammering in my chest, I stood frozen in place - trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I had been sitting on the back porch in a near doze - that state where I was not quite asleep, but not really awake either. The screech had been so loud that I was now certain I would find some catastrophe at my doorstep.

But as I looked around, I found nothing out of place - no cats engaged in fighting - no children screaming - no one racing through the back yard in terror. So what had happened?

Lacking an unfolding, my breathing slowed, my blood pressure dropped and....

I nearly jumped right out of my shoes when the screech came again. Right behind me this time. I whirled, prepared to either flight or flee, and found - nothing.

Systematically I walked from one end of the porch to the other looking in every crevice and corner. Something was hiding someplace.

Then came the screech yet again. I stared in disbelief. Right in front of me, clinging to the frame of a screen, was a frog little bigger than the first joint of my thumb. As I watched, a sac just beneath the frog's mouth ballooned out and then....SCREECH.

All of that noise from that one tiny tree frog.

Listening Kitty

So you say your kitty has been acting a little strange recently?

You just might want to take the time to investigate whether your feline friend is still the same kitty you've grown to know and love.

Seems the CIA once perfected the ability to implant a listening device in a cat's ear (with the battery pack surgically implanted in the abdomen and an antenna running along the cat's spine).

We all know that any good invention is subject to resurrection.  Recent advances in technology could condense the entire listening apparatus into a single component.

The next time kitty seems unusually interested in your activities outside of feeding time, it may be because your pet is... truly unusually interested... 

That fleck of dirt in kitty's ear may not be dirt at all... and you may want to pay just a little extra attention to what's being said.

Kept and Neglected

The property was an enigma.  Torn screens in second floor windows flapped in the breeze. A rain gutter, fallen from the roof eave, lay entangled in a sagging chain link fence. Clapboards showed bare wood beneath faded and flaking paint.

Yet the garden filling the front and side yards was immaculate.  Carefully pruned rose bushes grew between nurtured clumps of white and purple wildflowers. Evergreens were pruned into twisting spirals and crepe myrtle bloomed in pinks and blues.

Flagstones formed a twisting walk to the sagging front porch. Not a single weed grew in the mulch between stones. Yet the steps to which these stones led were a splintered and broken mess.

How was it, I wondered, that such beauty should flourish in front of so neglected a house?

Morning Pair

I pass them nearly every morning - an aging pair who walk the city blocks near my office building. Each moves with a stiffness that speaks of age.

The man is barrel chested, his curly mop of hair still predominately brown but his beard gone mostly gray. He carries a walking stick in one hand, usually grasped in the middle so that it is parallel to the ground - a safety measure should his joints complain too much. He is constantly mindful of his companion kept nearby by the leash he holds in his other hand.

The leash is as much a safety measure as the walking stick. The collie has turned a faded silver-red from nose to tail and places each foot with a care. Periodically the dog pauses to look up lovingly at its companion, then staggers a step or two before again finding a rhythmic pace. I suspect the only time the elderly collie thinks of running now is in dreams.

I wonder just how long the two have been together -  and what will happen when one of them is no longer able to make the daily journey, or worse yet, is no longer there at all. I have a suspicion they both hope that when that time comes they will move on together.