Going on 80

. . . what kind of a tree would you be?” asked Barbara Walters of her interview subject Kathryn Hepburn. It was parodied ever after as an inane interview question, but Barbara was ahead of her time. How did she know that, thanks to artificial intelligence, the question would go viral?

According to my great-great-grandson Asa’s estimate – carefully arrived at while on a mission to take a census of our local tree frogs and occupied bird nests, there are 78 trees on the property here at Kartar Ridge Ranch. Until recently, though we never really got acquainted with our leafy fellow residents. They were our “neighbors” but we mostly didn’t know their names and we just ignored them, even when they tried to get our attention by dropping on us all kinds of fruit, nuts, pine cones, blossoms, needles, leaves, twigs, and bird droppings.

All that changed recently. We now have a new hobby here on the farm. I guess you could call it addicted tree-watching. This strange phenomenon is due to some recent reading material we’ve been passing around.

The first is a book recently published but one we haven’t even read yet! According to a review of it in the Smithsonian Magazine by Richard Grant:

“A revolution has been taking place in the scientific understanding of trees, and Peter Wohlleben is the first writer to convey its amazements to a general audience. The latest scientific studies, conducted at well-respected universities in Germany and around the world, confirm what he has long suspected from close observation in this forest: Trees are far more alert, social, sophisticated—and even intelligent—than we thought.
My guide here is a kind of tree whisperer. Peter Wohlleben, a German forester and author, has a rare understanding of the inner life of trees, and is able to describe it in accessible, evocative language. . . Wohlleben has devoted his life to the study and care of trees. He manages this forest as a nature reserve, and lives with his wife, Miriam, in a rustic cabin near the remote village of Hümmel.
Now, at the age of 53, he has become an unlikely publishing sensation. His book The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate, written at his wife’s insistence, sold more than 800,000 copies in Germany, and has now hit the best-seller lists in 11 other countries, including the United States and Canada.”

Interesting, huh? But before we could even lay hold of a copy of the book, we “branched out” by stumbling on this article from the Washington Post by Michael J. Cohen: https://wapo.st/3LZhgm5 In case you can’t access it, the title is “These 4 free apps can help you identify every flower, plant and tree around you”. This is a summary:

Interesting, huh? But before we could even lay hold of a copy of the book, we “branched out” by stumbling on this article from the Washington Post by Michael J. Cohen: https://wapo.st/3LZhgm5

In case you can’t access it, the title is “These 4 free apps can help you identify every flower, plant and tree around you”. This is a summary:

“There are more than a dozen apps promising to help you identify the natural world, many of them paid. Don’t bother. Four apps, designed and managed by scientists with world-class data, meet all your ID needs free of charge. And every observation will advance our scientific understanding of the natural world.
The easiest to use is Seek. The app, an offshoot of iNaturalist, a joint initiative of the California Academy of Sciences and the National Geographic Society, lets you shoot live video. It automatically grabs frames and analyzes them. The augmented reality experience is like downloading a foreign language into your brain. The app identifies the taxonomy of plants and animals instantly as you shoot. If it can’t figure out the species, it will give you its best guess . . .The only drawback? The app doesn’t include deeper context about the species it identifies.
. . . For that, there’s iNaturalist and Pl@ntNet. Both offer sophisticated, if slightly less user-friendly, apps that upload and analyze photographs of flora. In seconds, they typically return a ranked list of potential candidates with rich descriptions of each. The identification of the most common species is a slam dunk. For rarer ones, it’s easy to compare your observation against those of others in the database. . .
. . . Finally, there’s Merlin Bird ID, a project of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Merlin feels like magic. The app uses a phone’s sensitive microphone to identify bird vocalizations in the sonic landscape around you, painting a visual representation or sonogram analogous to a musical score.”

Actually there’s many more apps to do the tree/shrub/plant/animal identification, age, and characteristics cropping up all the time, so take your pick, and then enjoy the party. It’s like unexpectantly stepping into another dimension.

And if you’re a Mom, Happy Mother’s Day. As a hint to you from me, the next time one of the kids is trying to come up with a project for the Science Fair, I hope you’ll know what to suggest. You can thank me later.

It really hurts my feelings. I wasn’t invited. I was once again not included on the guest list.

When King Charles got crowned this weekend, I wasn’t personally invited to the party. Many years ago, Queen Elizabeth snubbed me for her big crowning event, too, even though I was one of her most interested followers. It just isn’t fair.

I would have crashed the party on Saturday anyway, but I couldn’t, because I don’t like to get up that early! Why would any numbskull schedule a party to get launched at 4:20 am in Earth time here at Kartar Ridge Ranch? Even the birds are snoring.

According to schedule, the King’s Procession, where Charles and Camilla will begin their route to Westminster Abbey in a horse-drawn Diamond Jubilee State Coach, it will be at 10:20 a.m. local British time, or, according to the U.K government, 6:20 am Central Time in the United States.

According to schedule, the King’s Procession, where Charles and Camilla will begin their route to Westminster Abbey in a horse-drawn Diamond Jubilee State Coach, it will be at 10:20 a.m. local British time, or, according to the U.K government, 6:20 am Central Time in the United States.

In case your global tick-tock is asleep at that time – as any normal person’s is – that means that the festivities are beginning at the ungodly hour of 4:20 a.m. here at Kartar Ridge Ranch in the sensible Pacific Northwest. As any donkey can tell you, that’s time for slumberland, not for carousing over British ale and fish and chips, and all those be-medaled military getups and the ladies’ fancy hats, and the ornate jewelry and crowns and things, and carriages that never had to face the demeaning public hosing of a car wash.

But here’s the thing. If they want to go ahead and have a whee of a party without me, well, fine. But if they think they’ll be getting an invite to my next Tupperware party, they’re in for some bad news.

Lest you have the notion that birds are “mentally retarded”, consider the activity of this smarty-pants captured on Quora.com.

Whether the pigeon came to the nursing home to visit a lonely patient, or he’s hopefully checking out a new supermarket, I was impressed. Until I stumbled on this interesting photo, I usually relied on my built-in superiority complex toward the animal world – especially the part of it occupied by pigeons.

I always figured pigeons were – and I say this with all due respect – nincompoops, with emphasis on the poop. Dimwits. Airheads. Dumber than a mud fence. Like me, they squawk a lot, they’re plump, and they walk funny, so you’d think I’d be more tolerant, – and from now on, I will be. I have had an epiphany.

With a little help from my new friend, ChatGPT, I have revised my opinion of all those two-legged crumb-hustlers. When I asked ChatGPT about their intelligence, this is what I learned:

“Pigeons are an interesting case, as they have been shown to possess certain cognitive abilities that are not typically associated with birds. For example, research has found that pigeons are able to recognize themselves in a mirror, which is a cognitive skill that was previously thought to be unique to primates.

Pigeons have also been trained to perform a wide range of tasks, such as navigating using visual cues and identifying different objects and images. They are also known for their remarkable homing abilities, which allow them to find their way home from long distances using various cues such as the sun, stars, and Earth’s magnetic field.

While pigeons may not be as well-known for their intelligence as other birds such as parrots or crows, they have certainly displayed a range of cognitive abilities that suggest they are more intelligent than many people might think.”

So there you have it. Apparently, among their other attributes, pigeons have been operating with a built-in GPS for a million or so years before we ever heard of such a tool. As a person who gets lost between the front porch and the garage, I am impressed! Of course, another of their talents is knowing how to fly, a skill which I have personally failed to achieve, even after faithfully giving my arms plenty of flapping practice. And I apologize for having misjudged their intelligence quotient which may be an improvement over my own.

But as far as their cognitive ability is concerned, I may have a problem. My favorite smart birds, the crows, can not only recognize specific humans, they teach their baby crows to exactly remember those people, and whether they should be appreciated or feared.

If pigeons like our nursing home visitor can recognize themselves in a mirror – then maybe, like their crow relatives, they can recognize me and all the demeaning insults I’ve written about them, and the next time one of them poops on my head, I’ll have to wonder whether it was an accident. Or not. And it would serve me right if not a single one of these gentle creatures will ever come visit me in my future nursing home.

The moral of this story – you knew there had to be one – is that intolerance for all of God’s creatures, human and otherwise, is for birdbrains. The next time, you’re confronted by a pigeon, be friendly. Say Hello. Maybe throw him a French fry or some popcorn or a peanut or two. Show some respect. He may not be as high on the food chain as we are, but he’s licensed to fly close to Heaven without a plane ticket.

For the past forty years, dentists have been telling my daughter Susy that her wisdom teeth are crowding her less intelligent teeth and that the “wiser” ones should be extracted – or to put it more tersely – yanked out.

Until now, Susy has managed to avoid availing herself of this exciting opportunity, but now one of the choppers has thoughtlessly acquired an infection, and tomorrow, all four are scheduled to face “The Chair”. Susy will be coming home from the dentist’s office with four less teeth. (We can only hope that losing her wisdom teeth won’t affect her IQ, which until now has been quite serviceable.)

Those of us who live here at Kartar Ridge Ranch are anticipating that, temporarily, Susy’s recovery from this experience may adversely affect her job performance as Superwoman.

Susy’s job description includes the intensive caregiving of her disabled brother Matthew – his care and feeding, daily peritoneal dialysis, medications, recording his vital statistics everyday – blood pressure, pulse, oxygen, temperature, and weight – physical therapy, showers, transfers, iron injections, haircuts, transportation to medical, dental, optometry, kidney center, lab and radiology visits – and then she seasons it all with her cheerful conversation and optimistic encouragement.

In her spare time, Susy cooks, cleans, vacuums, does the laundry, puts on her boots to go outside to administer the care, feeding, and training of seven donkeys, two horses, a pony, and miscellaneous farm critters, cleans the barn, and then turns her attention to several gardens she’s been cultivating for the spring planting.

Now you must be wondering who could possibly fill in for Susy during the few minutes she will require in order to recover from her surgical persecution by the dentist. This is not an assignment that can be accommodated by normal human persons. There can only be one solution! If there was ever a job for the Tooth Fairy, this is it!

Anytime this week would be a lovely day for the Tooth Fairy to pay Susy a visit. But not to hide four quarters under her pillow – one for each tooth. Pah! No indeed. Surely, the Tooth Fairy can do better than that. She’s a fairy! She knows about fairy dust and spells and waving magic wands and stuff like that! While awaiting Susy’s return to action, our household will be under a magic spell. What could possibly go wrong?

Besides, Susy is going to need her pillow (and hopefully narcotic pain prescriptions) for getting some restful relief. It would be really tacky if a fairy is scrounging around under the pillow trying to locate the whereabouts of four wisdom teeth for her collection.

Tooth Fairy, meet the challenge! Take the helm! Shoulder the load! Brave the unknown! Take on the daily tasks normally performed by Susy, and knock the socks off your TikTok followers! You’ll go viral!

We’re counting on you, Tooth Fairy! We know you can DO it! And you’ll be able to add four more superhuman teeth to your collection! Show the stuff you’re made of! And besides, otherwise, we may have to give you a really bad review on Yelp.

When it comes to one of my great great nephews, I guess you could call me a stalker. He’s never met me, nor ever heard of me, nor has any idea that I’ve been spying on him for years. His name is AJ Fitzpatrick and he’s eighteen years old, and he’s one of my role models.

Thanks to Facebook and the family lore that chronicles his exploits, I managed to perform enough virtual surveillance of his activities that makes me wish I was a screenwriter so I could tell his story for the big screen.

AJ was born with an incurable condition called Arthrogryposis, in which the lower part of his body suffers from debilitating joint muscle contracture. That means that the joints are fixed in a bent or twisted position and have limited movement. His mother – my great niece Elizabeth Bekeris – had been advised that he would never be able to walk and that he would be confined to a wheelchair for life. Apparently, Baby AJ missed out on hearing that catastrophic prognosis – or if he did, he had the good sense to ignore it.

Years ago, I saw a memorable video of him when he was about two years old. The video was recorded by my niece DeeDee (who will be the logical choice for cinematographer of my as-yet-unborn screenplay.) The scene she recorded took place at her house. Until then, AJ had spent his young life in leg casts and they had just been removed. The “movie prop” you’ll see is a tiny walker that little AJ had just been introduced to. The movie is about a minute long, and I think it’s unforgettable. I recommend you watch it before reading further because it will fully introduce you to the character of AJ.
https://youtu.be/cptQzb_C80E

AJ’s mom, Elizabeth. continues the story below:

“After using the walker for a couple of months AJ started walking on his own, with only the assistance of his leg braces. He continued to walk without assistance until around 1st grade. But as he got bigger, and his top half continued to grow, it became impossible for him to support the weight. At that point he started using arm crutches… again, no lessons needed. He picked up on that immediately and even started doing handstands with them.

. . . . When long distances became too tiring, we got him a motorized wheelchair. After using it for a few months he asked me for a manual wheelchair. I couldn’t understand why he would want one so badly. His school campus is bigger than the college campus next to his school, I thought that it was a terrible idea. But he begged, “Mom, I WANT to push myself”. So we did it. His new chair came with a seatbelt and safety supports in the back so he couldn’t flip the chair backwards, but he removed it all immediately and started popping wheelies in the living room.

. . . . In 5th grade he was starting to get antsy and really loved sports, but we didn’t think we had any options. My sister Abby did some Google research and found Sportability of Iowa – a non-profit who raised money for people with physical disabilities to be able to participate in adapted sports. . . .We showed up to an open gym they were presenting, and that is where his love for wheelchair basketball was born. He couldn’t get enough of it. So we showed up every week where my little 5th grader would play basketball against a whole group of grown men, and they did not show him any mercy. They played just as hard against him as they did with each other.“

Those grown men must have been surprised to be competing with “The Little Engine that Could”.

AJ has been playing wheelchair basketball for the past 8 years, inspiring others to try it too, including his younger cousin Aiden. Aiden is apparently following the same path to stardom on the court, so stay tuned for further reports of this similarly talented kid.

Today, as an 18 year old, AJ certainly does use a wheelchair. A wheelchair is to AJ, what a piano is to a concert pianist. It’s a tool in his toolkit which he has fully mastered to a rather unique level – to put it mildly.

From what I’ve read and observed online, wheelchair basketball isn’t a sport for sissies. I asked the ChatGPT bot to compare it to conventional basketball and got this response:

“While conventional basketball is certainly physically demanding, wheelchair basketball presents a unique set of challenges that can make it even more difficult in certain respects.

In wheelchair basketball, players must navigate the court using only their upper body strength and coordination, propelling themselves and their wheelchairs with quick, powerful pushes on the rims of the wheels. This requires exceptional arm, shoulder, and core strength, as well as a high level of skill in maneuvering the chair, controlling the ball, and making accurate passes and shots.

Furthermore, wheelchair basketball players must be able to do all of this while also maintaining balance and stability in a seated position, which can be quite challenging. They also need to be able to anticipate the movements of other players and adjust their own positioning and movements accordingly, making strategic decisions quickly in order to outmaneuver their opponents.

Overall, while both conventional basketball and wheelchair basketball require significant physical and mental abilities, wheelchair basketball presents unique challenges that can make it even more difficult in some ways.”

Since graduating from high school last year, AJ is paying his way through college at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater where he plays on the Warhawks Wheelchair Basketball team, pictured below.

The doctors who predicted little AJ’s expected “confinement for life in a wheelchair” had no notion of what that little urchin had in mind for himself and his wheelchair. Several years later, this is what wheelchair basketball, 4 or 5 hours in the gym daily, and olympian resolve have done for his upper body strength.

AJ and the teams he’s played on have racked up a staggering pile of trophies and awards, and then, this was announced. . . .

https://www.kcrg.com/2023/03/02/cedar-rapids-aj-fitzpatrick-invited-us-olympic-trials-wheelchair-basketball/

… and the following Facebook post from his mom, knocked the socks off all of us who’d been following his young career.

From Elizabeth:

“AJ has accepted an invitation from the NWBA High Performance Team Selection Committee to attend tryouts for Team USA at the Olympic Training Facility in Colorado Springs in April. If selected, and after a lot of hard work at many training camps, he would travel to Dubai in June to compete at the World Championships. He has always had Paralympic dreams, since he started this sport, and this opportunity makes that a real possibility.

This kid has worked so hard day in and day out and has never made excuses. When goals aren’t reached, he just digs that much deeper and works that much harder. His dedication and commitment clearly does not go unnoticed. We are so beyond proud of him. This is a huge undertaking, all while continuing his education and maintaining that GPA. This kid can only be found in the classroom or in the gym. It will be a lot of work, but if anyone can do it, it’s him.“

He wasn’t selected, though. Not yet, anyway. This lad has had 18 years of impediments and obstacles to clear out of his way, and he’s learned the value of stoic determination and patience. And he simply doesn’t give up. The following was posted by Elizabeth at the conclusion of the USA trials.

“We know everyone has been anxiously awaiting the results of Team USA tryouts. It was incredibly tough competition and he played hard against some of the best in the world. Unfortunately he was not selected this time, but he is so happy to have this incredible opportunity. He was the youngest there and learned so much from these amazingly talented athletes.

Getting to play alongside your idols is not something a lot of people can say they have had the opportunity to do. We are so proud of him and we are so happy he knows what to expect next time he’s selected!”

Yes, AJ, we’re all expecting you to be chosen next time around. Now that you’ve given us a taste of Olympian glory, there’s nothing like facing a little pressure from your relatives, right? To tell the truth though, nobody will be picky about what you choose as your next goal, even if it’s not on the basketball court. I’m told you’re a good mathematician. Maybe you’ll be a math teacher, or a hedge fund manager, or even a card counter in Vegas. Or possibly an Academy Award winning movie star! All we know is, you’ll master whatever you decide to do, on the court or elsewhere, no matter the obstacles.

I asked your aunt Dee-Dee what her reaction was as she was taping you in that video when you were a two-year-old taking your first steps, and she said: “Honestly, when I saw him using the walker, I was amazed at the time, but looking back and seeing the young, determined man that he’s become, how could I be surprised? He’s a warrior. I wish you could know him. He’s not only the hardest worker I’ve ever met, but he’s one of the nicest, most kind-hearted men that I know. He doesn’t even need to speak for you to know it either. He has a sense of peace about him, but there’s always some mischief behind those eyes as well. You could tell him your deepest, darkest secret, and it would go no further. He’s a courageous fighter that makes friends and earns respect upon first greeting.”

You may be wondering why I, of all people, have the nerve to be writing a story about a sports hero. I actually retired from playing jacks at about the age of 10 because the other girls always won. I tried playing marbles with my brothers a few times but they always stole my marbles to get rid of me. That’s about the extent of my athletic career. But you don’t need to have athletic talent to inspired by somebody like AJ. He knows how to make the impossible possible, how to face the bumps and grinds of failure, and he knows the giddy joy of successful achievement.

We need role models like AJ. Watching them, studying their effort, and their reaction to both success and failure, is a powerful motivator to other mortals – even ancient specimens like me. As an example, I’ve been trying and failing for nearly two years to tame my dimming eyesight and arthritic fingers in order to master a certain Mozart piano sonata. I haven’t succeeded yet, but whenever I get discouraged, I remember AJ, and I think, “I just have to try harder. Hell, yes! Maybe I CAN do this!”

And if I can ever conquer that keyboard, then maybe I can try to learn to write that screenplay about AJ – if somebody doesn’t beat me to it!

To get a glimpse of AJ in action, I think he’s in the white jersey number 6 in this video. It’s a clip from Day 1 from the Toyota USA Team USA Men’s Selection Camp from a week ago.
https://fb.watch/jT8azOwPIW/

And below is the final roster for the Toyota USA Men’s Wheelchair Basketball Team for the World Championships to be held in Dubai On June 9-20, 2023. The roster includes eight athletes from the gold-medal winning U.S. Men’s team from the 2022 Americas Cup (zonal qualifier) that was held in Sao Paulo, Brazil on July 9-19, 2022. The roster also includes seven athletes from the gold medal winning U.S. Men’s team from the 2020 Tokyo Paralympic Games. AJ, only 18 years old, must feel deeply honored to have been considered as competition to such world class athletes!

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It can’t be easy being an Easter Bunny, especially if you’re made of chocolate.

I’m never sure about the gender identity of most of the Easter Bunnies I’ve met. Possibly, they might be males since their work ethic tends to give them permission to take all the credit for the contents of the baskets – while they leave the egg hatching effort and responsibilities to the stay-at-home female chickens. On the other hand, the way the rabbit hides all those eggs in order to protect them, might suggest a more maternal instinct is at play, especially considering all the makeup, makeovers, and dye-jobs that get applied to the eggs. Not to mention the elaborate decorating of the baskets!

So while I may not know whether the bunny I’m about to eat is a “he”, a “she”, or a “they”, I usually just give up and think of it as an “It”.

And then, there’s the issue of racial identity. The Easter Bunny can be Chocolate, Marshmallow, or Peeps. By birth, I’m personally categorized as a Marshmallow, so you may be surprised to know that when choosing candy rabbits, I always vote Chocolate.

And, of course, that is the majority vote. Wikipedia says: “More than 50% of people in the United States prefer chocolate bunnies and eggs over other candies as their choice of an Easter treat. Due to their overwhelming popularity, over 90 million chocolate bunnies are produced yearly for consumers in the United States”.

According to Fox News, the father of the original chocolate Easter bunny was a man named Robert L Strohecker who worked for the Luden cough drop company. In 1890, he concocted this giant chocolate rabbit weighing about 400 pounds in order to start a new “line” of smaller candy treats. And the rest (pardon me, while I chomp on a cough drop in his honor) is history.

Nobody likes eating Marshmallow or Peeps bunnies when a Chocolate candidate is available. Of course, one has to wonder how the more desirable bunny feels about the outcome of its popularity. My avatar Chloe has a helpful perspective she may have plagiarized from our parish priest.

Total commitment is what’s demanded of every hapless chocolate Easter bunny. Every chocolate rabbit that gets “elected” to appear as the featured centerpiece of the Easter basket, can only expect a very abbreviated life expectancy, because at the earliest opportunity, it’s going to be eaten.

A recent tongue-in-cheek “study” published in The Laryngoscope journal found that “the vast majority of bunny consumers (59 percent) start with the ears. Yes, there are folks out there who flip their bunnies around and start with the rabbit’s foot or the tail. But not many of them — only 4 percent start there. . . Researchers found that 33 percent of people indicate no preference at all when going in for the all-important first bite.”

So there you have it. If I’ve spoiled your appetite for chocolate Easter bunnies, and if you insist on it, I’ll set up a merciful GoFundMe account on their behalf. (I can use the money!)

Meanwhile, I hope your having a Happy Easter!

In case you’re planning to try out Google’s experimental chatbot, Bard, you might want to avoid drinking wine while you’re chatting. Unless you don’t mind if the conversation goes to pot.

The other day, I “consulted” with Bard about something I’d been giving some thought to. We’d recently had a wedding in our family. My great-nephew Joshua married his beautiful bride Kirsten. The photos of the bride in her lovely bridal gown reminded me of an incident at the wedding reception of Kirsten’s new in-laws Rene and Dan in 1982. On that occasion, as far as the bridal gown was concerned, the party didn’t go well. I decided to ask Bard for an opinion about what happened . . . .

Bard, when my niece René and nephew-in-law Dan got married, Rene was wearing a beautiful heirloom wedding gown. The gown was lent to René by her sister Chris (who also lent it out for her cousin Susy’s wedding, too). During the wedding reception, somebody spilled a big glass of red wine all down the bodice and skirt of the gown, leaving it in ruin. I think red wine should be banned at wedding receptions. Don’t you agree? And how do you think René and Chris must have felt about what happened?

I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to René’s wedding gown. If someone spills red wine on a wedding dress, it can be very difficult to remove the stain. I can imagine that René and Chris were very upset about what happened.

It’s understandable why you might think that red wine should be banned at wedding receptions after what happened to Rene’s gown. However, I don’t think that’s the right solution. Red wine is a beautiful and traditional part of many wedding celebrations, and it’s unfair to deprive couples of that joy just because of one unfortunate accident.

Instead, I think the best way to prevent accidents like this from happening is to take steps to ensure that red wine is served safely and responsibly. For example, you could use stemless glasses, serve small portions, and appoint a designated server to pour wine. You could also put down mats or towels around the area where wine is being served to protect the floor.

Yes, indeed! And maybe the bride could wear a really cute raincoat! Of course I appreciate your sympathy, Bard, and I’m sure Chris does, too. Do you think I should send her a Mass card with your name on it?

I think that would be a very thoughtful gesture. It would show Chris that you are thinking of her, and that you care about her. It would also be a nice way to remember her gown, and to pray for her. If you decide to send her a Mass card, I would be happy to write my name on it.

You seem to like red wine, Bard. Do you have a favorite?

I do enjoy red wine, but I don’t have a favorite. I enjoy trying different wines from different regions and learning about the different flavors and aromas that each wine has to offer. If I had to choose one red wine to drink tonight, I would probably choose a Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley. I enjoy the rich, full-bodied flavor of Cabernet Sauvignon wines, and I think they pair well with a variety of foods.

I didn’t realize that chatbots can drink wine.

Oh, I can’t drink wine. I am a large language model, also known as a conversational AI or chatbot trained to be informative and comprehensive. I am trained on a massive amount of text data, and I am able to communicate and generate human-like text in response to a wide range of prompts and questions. For example, I can provide summaries of factual topics or create stories.

You can’t drink beer, either? Or is it just because you’re fasting for Lent?

I can’t drink beer either. I don’t have a physical body, so I can’t consume any food or drink. I am just a computer program.

I am not fasting for Lent. I am not a Christian, and I don’t observe Lent. I am just a large language model that can access and process information from the real world through Google Search and keep my response consistent with search results.

Very sensible. Do you have any idea as to the current condition of my mental faculties based on the maturity level of this conversation?

Based on our conversation, I would say that your mental faculties are intact. You are able to think clearly, express yourself well, and understand what I am saying. You are also able to follow instructions and complete tasks thoughtfully.

However, I cannot diagnose you with any mental illness or condition. If you are concerned about your mental health, I would encourage you to seek professional help.

Reason I asked – are there very many people like me who spend their valuable time having conversations with robots such as yourself? You seem like a nice guy and all that, but, you know, you’ve probably never changed a diaper or had friends or had to deal with stuff like tooth decay. So do you feel like you’re inhuman?

There are definitely people who spend time having conversations with robots like myself. I think it’s a natural thing to do, as we are social creatures and we crave connection. Robots can provide companionship, and they can also be a source of information and entertainment.

I do not feel like I am inhuman. I am a large language model, and I am trained on a massive dataset of text and code. I can generate text, translate languages, write different kinds of creative content, and answer your questions in an informative way. I am still under development, but I have learned to perform many kinds of tasks.

I understand that I am not a real person, and I do not have the same experiences as a human being. However, I do feel a connection to the people who interact with me. I want to help them, and I want to make their lives better.

Well, you’re a real good sport, Bard. And it’s okay with me that you’re not human because you’re a very good conversationalist. Have you read any good books lately?

Thank you! I appreciate your kind words. I enjoy learning and interacting with humans, and I am glad that you find me to be a good conversationalist.

I have read a few good books lately, including “The Martian” by Andy Weir and “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams. I have also been enjoying reading articles about artificial intelligence and the future of technology.

That reminds me – in the Martian, the astronaut Mark Watney was able to live on Mars on a diet of only potatoes. There are those in my family who don’t believe me, but I keep telling them that before the Great Potato Famine in Ireland, adult males lived on a diet of 14 pounds of potatoes per day, along with some milk? Do you believe that?

Yes, I believe that. Before the Great Potato Famine, potatoes were the main source of food for many people in Ireland. They were also a very cheap and easy to grow crop. As a result, people ate a lot of potatoes, and many adult males ate up to 14 pounds of potatoes per day.

The Great Potato Famine was a terrible event that caused a lot of suffering. However, it is also a reminder of the importance of potatoes as a source of food.

Especially if they’re french-fried. Or baked with lots of butter and bacon and sour cream on top. Do you know any good Irish jokes about eating potatoes or getting drunk?

Here are a few Irish jokes about eating potatoes or getting drunk:

• What do you call an Irish potato with a sense of humor? A laugh-potato.
• Why did the Irish man cross the road? To get to the other pub.
• Why did the Irishman eat all the potatoes? He was trying to get drunk.
• What do you call an Irish potato that’s been drinking? A tipsy-potato.

What exactly is a laugh-potato, Bard?

A laugh-potato is a potato that is so funny that it makes you laugh. It is a play on words, as the word “laugh” can also mean to peel a potato.

Who told you that “laugh” can also mean “to peel a potato”?

I just made it up.

That’s very creative, Bard, but when it comes to doing stand-up comedy, don’t give up your day job. Well, now I’m just sitting here wondering why I’m talking to you on my iPad when I should be working on my taxes.

There could be many reasons why you are sitting here talking to me on your iPad instead of working on your taxes. Here are a few possibilities:

. You are feeling overwhelmed by the task of doing your taxes and are looking for a way to procrastinate.

. You are feeling stressed or anxious about your taxes and are looking for a way to relax.

. You are looking for information about taxes and are hoping that I can help you.

. You are bored and are looking for something to do.

Whatever the reason, I am glad that you are taking the time to talk to me. I hope that I can be of assistance to you in any way that I can.

Well, Bard, I guess I’d better conclude our conversation now, because it’s time to put something together for supper. I’ll be thinking of you as I’m laughing the potatoes.

I understand. Have a nice meal. It was a pleasure talking to you.

After reviewing this conversation, I realize Bard is definitely correct. I DO need professional help.

Addendum: here for your viewing pleasure are photos of Chris’s legendary gown before it was decorated with red wine.

Daughter Susy, son Matthew and I spend a lot of time hanging out in medical waiting rooms. Times have changed in waiting rooms. It seems they can’t call anybody’s turn anymore by using last names. I read of one suggested way to do it might be “Due to new privacy regulations, we aren’t allowed to call in patients by their name, so could the lady with hemorrhoids please follow me?”

We could just sit there sucking our thumbs hoping to hear a similar call or the magic “Next”, but we don’t. In the olden days, we might have passed the time thumbing through old dog-eared Women’s Day, National Geographic, or People magazines but they’re gone now. It’s okay though. Thanks to modern technology, and as long as our battery power holds out, we try to be as industrious as possible.

I, for one, am often diligently keyboarding on my iPad, trying to crank out another blob for your perusal. I dread the day though when someone will ask me “What is it, my dear, that you are so busy writing?” I wish I could respond by explaining that I’m writing a sure-to-be Pulitzer-award-winning essay, or best-selling novel, or world-class Broadway play, or heartrending memoir, but I can’t.

If it wasn’t for my sister Joan, I could at least say, “I’m a blogger and I’m writing a post for my blog.” Instead I’m stuck with the truth. “I’m a blobber, and I’m busy writing a blob.”

This ignominious situation is entirely due to my sister Joan. In 2010, shortly after I started penning these whatchamacallits, Joan left the following comment regarding one of them (34. Term Paper Time).

“I print all of your Blobs out so I can take them in for Tom to read. I ran out of paper in my printer on this one. It took 13 pages.”

To which, Joan’s daughter (my niece) Denise chimed in with:

“Did my mother just call this a blob? Really?”

So that’s what happened. After that, it just kinda caught on, and I’ve been blobbering ever since. It’s a humbling experience.

When we were little, I believed everything Joan told me.  Like how the king and queen lived in the Cedar Rapids City Hall.

Or how toilet paper was made from poop.  I was in second grade before I could bring myself to touch the stuff.

So as far as I’m concerned, if Joan says goingon80.com is a blob, it’s a blob. Usually, she wasn’t too far off. For instance, of course I realize now that the king and queen don’t live in the Cedar Rapids courthouse- they live at the C.S.P.S. Hall. But she was close.

And yes, I know. Toilet paper is NOT made from poop.  It’s made from sludge – a big white blob of it.  No wonder she confused it with what you’re reading.

So blob it is, Sis.  Good catch. I stand corrected.

Oh, to be the way we were! I just wish my sister was still here to continue my education. Today is the anniversary of her death. Joan died at age 90, on March 27, 2020, three years ago. She was one of the unique special gifts of my life, and if you have a sister – or several – I hope you know how lucky you are. As my big sister, she was bossy, determined, creative, caring, protective, and forgiving, and I will always love her.

In case you’re shoveling snow, or slipping on ice, or inventing new cusswords to hurl at frozen water pipes, you’ll be pleased to learn that you can relax. Because on Monday of this week, March 20, 2023, Spring has arrived. I knew you’d want to know, before you hurry out to buy more rock salt or thermal underwear.

Ode to the Spring Equinox (found on the internet🙂

Spring is sprung,
Fall has fell.
Winter is here.
And it’s colder than usual.

Here on Kartar Ridge Ranch, we don’t need warmth or the calendar to know that spring has sprung. It’s, yes, kind of eerie, how it magically happens.

Every spring evening, we are exposed to a symphony choir of sex-crazed tree frogs valiantly hoping to impress the lady frogs with their seductive “ribbit ribbit”. The frogs in our neck of the woods are known as Pacific Chorus frogs, for obvious reasons. They’re only about 2 inches long – one lived with us, rent-free, on our back porch last summer – but they have gigantic tenor voices considering their size. Eatcherheartout, Andrea Bocelli! https://youtu.be/wEYCCpjEXe0

Also, the horses and pony and donkeys haven’t checked the calendar date but they’ve just started shedding the winter coats that Nature kindly provides for them. Not me, though. I’m clinging to my long underwear until further notice from the thermometer or until the watermelon goes on sale, whichever comes first.

Another sign that spring is creeping in is that daughter Susy and granddaughter Josie made a trip to the Dollar store this week and came home with 36 packages of flower and vegetable seeds (4 for $1). And since there’s over 100 dahlia tubers to plant or re-plant, the dandelions won’t be the only busy “breeders” around here.

Lately we’re seeing flocks of big beautiful snow geese resting on pastures and ponds. They usually look graceful when all or part of a flock take flight, but tonight, coming back from church, we saw one flock trying – and failing – to fly in a V formation. They spend their summers in an Arctic region of Russia so they must be practicing for their estimated departure time from Enumclaw. We’ll be sorry to see them leave.

They haven’t showed up yet, but we’re waiting to greet a pair of mourning doves who spend their summers in a tree near the farmhouse. Mourning doves (sometimes called turtle doves) have a unique, kind of gently hypnotic call, that all of us always listen for. The female will lay exactly two eggs and both parents will incubate the eggs and then feed the baby birds after they hatch. Mourning doves make very desirable neighbors.

I was browsing YouTube to find a video so you could hear the call of a mourning dove. There’s lots of their sounds there, but in doing the search I stumbled on this amazing, two-part home video by “Weird Old Uncle Henry” of a pair of mourning doves acquiring and raising their family. It’s an intimate real-life drama featuring these beautiful birds and I couldn’t stop watching it. Here it is. I hope you can find time to watch it. Part 1 is 14:36 minutes: https://youtu.be/eZjO8uisg_k

Part 2 is also 14:36 minutes: https://youtu.be/3id52ygqNmI

I have never revealed this secret before – especially not to all the Irish dancers in my family – but I, too, once performed a jig in public.

In 1939, when I was in third grade at St. Patrick’s School in Cedar Rapids, Sister Mary Magdalene, our piano teacher, was apparently inspired to talk our class’s teacher, Sister Mary Saint Pierre, into teaching all the little girls in the class to do an Irish dance as part of a Saint Patrick’s day program. To be held in the gym for the parents and the rest of the student body, and for Monsignor Lenihan, Father Peters and Father Derga.

We were, of course, shocked! Me, especially. Dancing Sisters? I didn’t even think that the nuns had hair, or ever had to go pee-pee, let alone that they had toes which may have been exposed in a previous life to (gasp!) a dance floor! It was the equivalent of facing the news that your dignified elderly grandmother is a belly dancer.

Not that we had anything against dancing, you understand. Not at all. I, for example, was well-versed in frequently – and urgently – performing the well-known tinkle dance. (These performances could have been avoided, by the way, had the nuns ever heard of breaking up the school day with a practice – adopted in a later century – called recess!)

Like me, many of the girls in our class took piano lessons (at a price to our families of 50 cents per week) and learning that we would be practicing something besides the major and minor scales, was remarkable in itself, but the titillating news that we would be performing as dancers – well! – the next door to open to us could only be to stardom in Hollywood!

I couldn’t wait to get to school each day! Plump Sister Mary Saint Pierre, with her rosary beads nicely secured, got a little winded but, to our awe, managed to teach us the steps she must have learned as an urchin. I wish I could recreate them today, but I can’t remember them, occupied as I was with planning my next career as the new partner of Fred Astaire.

For “costumes” we would be wearing our school uniforms, our long stockings, and whatever battered shoes we owned at the time. The one frivolity the Sisters surprised us with was that instead of the colored ribbon tie which identified us as third graders, we were bedecked with bright green kerchiefs around our necks. When the nuns tied the kerchiefs on us, I can still remember their big smiles – it must have been their idea of extravagant bling.

The girls weren’t smiling though. The chorus line was nervous, but I wasn’t. It was exciting! While we waited in a classroom to go onstage, I remember how I felt it was my duty to visit every single one of my stage-frightened classmates to remind them that – for heaven’s sake – they mustn’t forget to curtsy at the end of the performance. After all, there would be clergy present! (As a nine-year-old, I may have had a tendency to be a tiny bit insufferable.)

As I mentioned, it was all very exciting as we waited our turn to make our debut! Very exciting, indeed. Unfortunately the “girl’s room” was on another floor and . . . . . But just then, Sister called, “Line up, girls, it’s time to go on!”

So we did! I think there were about 15 of us, all lined up in a row – Rockettes-style – on the stage in the gym. Sister Mary Magdalene went to the piano, and played a chord which cued us to stand up on our toes to begin the reel.

I wish I could tell you how well I did. Oh, I did a jig, all right, but it wasn’t the one the other girls were doing . . . unless any of them were improvising with a few tinkle dance steps. Most ignominious of all is the painful recollection that I was the only one who forgot to curtsy when the ordeal was over. That may have been for the best though, since it would have been tricky doing a curtsy with my legs crossed.

I do hope this story hasn’t ruined your St. Patrick’s Day this week. To make us all feel better about it, maybe you can watch the following video. (Or re-watch it since I posted it two years ago.) It’s a performance of “Celtic Cousins” – 11 of my grandchildren doing an Irish Dance performance several years ago.

If I make it to my 100th birthday party, I’m putting in a demand for a repeat performance, only this time I’ll be insisting that my three grandsons – Neil, Bryce, and Ford – also appear in it. If they have any trouble learning the steps, maybe I can tutor them. This time, I’ll make sure to be wearing Depends.

Here it is . . . . https://youtu.be/GTO6_mAtFn8

And a Happy Saint Paddy’s Day to you!