Red Beer

The other day, my brother-in law and I engaged in a pretty good discussion about Scotch whisky.  I am a fan of single malts with an earthy taste.  I want to taste the Scottish countryside in each sip.   My brother-in-law prefers something a bit smoother.  He will sometimes pull a blended Scotch off the shelf.

 

Scotch is a big deal for both of us.  We don’t always agree on taste.  That said, we are not likely to draw firearms and start spraying lead when one of us purchases a bottle not preferred by the other party. 

Last week, a man from Hamilton, Montana was sentenced to twenty years in prison for shooting and injuring another man and for killing his dog.  Monte Leon Hanson, the man convicted of the shooting, shot his neighbor, Joe Lewis, in a dispute over a red beer.  Four hours prior to the shooting incident, while working as a bartender at a local establishment in Hamilton, Joe Lewis angered Monte Hanson when he used Clamato juice instead of tomato juice in making his red beer.

Hanson and Lewis lived in the same apartment building.  Lewis went home immediately following his shift.  He picked up his dog to carry it outside and found Monte Hanson there.  Hanson started shooting.  One bullet struck Lewis in the head.  A second struck Lewis in the ribs.  The dog died of a gunshot wound.

Monte Hanson claimed that drinking Clamato juice was against his religion.  Hanson practices Judaism.   According to the account I read in the Independent Record, Hanson reportedly told a cellmate he would “do it again” if given the opportunity.

--Mitchell Hegman

When a Tree Falls: Fire

My brother-in-law, Terry, and I like a fire.  Any excuse for a fire will do.  Campfires.  Burning weeds.  Creating a warm place during a winter excursion.  Roasting marshmallows.

Fire is an important tool, when used properly.

Terry once set his back lawn and wooden fence on fire while trying to burn some ants infesting his yard.  His neighbors on the other side of the fence were having a barbeque at the time.  They were somewhat baffled and more than a bit concerned when the flames climbed Terry’s fence and began waving at them from the top.

Once, while burning an assortment of junk at my cabin, I created a wintertime fire so big, my face turned pink as if sunburned.  At one point, while feeding some old cabinets into the fire and extreme heat, I actually thought the shirt I had stripped down to, was emitting puffs of smoke and seriously considering bursting into flame.

Two weeks back, my mountain neighbor called to tell me that the wind had toppled a dead-standing tree and laid it across the private road to my cabin.  I called my brother-in-law on Thursday and asked if he wanted to grab his chainsaw this weekend and help me clear the road. “This is going to require a fire,” I told him.

“I’m in,” he said.

Yesterday, we grabbed our chainsaws and drove to my cabin.  As you can see in the first photograph posted below, only the top twenty or so fee of the tree fell across the road.  Terry and I fired-up our saws and chunked up a load of firewood for my cabin.  After I stacked the wood in my cabin, we loaded some small pieces in the truck for Terry.

And, yes, we started a big fire to burn the mess of small branches.

--Mitchell Hegman 

Last Words

Oscar Wilde:  “The wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death.  One or the other of us has to go.”

Alfred Hitchcock:  “One never knows the ending.  One has to die to know exactly what happens after death, although Catholics have their hopes.”

Steve Jobs:  “Oh wow.  Oh wow.  Oh wow.”

Joan Crawford  (spoken to her housekeeper when the housekeeper began praying):  “Damn it!  Don’t you dare ask God to help me!”

Lavina Fisher (moments before her execution for murder convictions—spoken even as her similarly convicted husband pleaded for mercy):  “If any of you have a message to give the devil, give it to me quick—I’m about to meet him!”    NOTE:  Following her words, Lavina cheated the executioners by jumping from the scaffolding and killing herself before they could do their job.

--Mitchell Hegman

Smog

According to an article I read at history.com, on this day in 1952, a high-pressure air mass stalled over London, England, trapping a lower cold air front atop the city.  Residents of the city responded by burning extra coal in their furnaces.  The air remained trapped over London for four days in an inversion similar to those we experience here in Helena, Montana.  The smoke, soot and sulfur dioxide from the coal, industrial plant emissions, and automobile exhaust quickly developed into a heavy smog.

By December 7, the smog virtually blocked sunlight and reduced visibility in some sections of London to a mere five yards.  All transportation was halted to avoid collisions.  An unusually high number of people began suffering respiratory distress.  Thousands of people died in their sleep.

 

When the smog finally blew away on December 9, authorities estimated that somewhere between 4,000 and 9,000 people died as result of the heavy pollution.

The British government quickly adopted more stringent air pollution regulations and encouraged people to turn away from the use of coal.  

--Mitchell Hegman

Cat Time

Cats can tell time.  Living with 40 pounds of housecat, I am perfectly aware of their abilities in this matter.  I am convinced that my cats are accurate to within a minute or two.

My cat are particularly interested in feeding time.

I usually give them an afternoon snack at 4:00 PM.  Sure enough, a few minutes before 4:00 my cats will appear at my feet.  At first, they simply stare at me.  If I fail to feed them immediately, Carmel will whimper like an electrician just handed a shovel and asked to dig a ditch.  If that fails to motivate me, my two cats will begin whacking each other with stirring spoons and banging on drums.

Okay.  They don’t actually use spoons or whack drums, but they fuss with each other enough to make it seem like that.  After enough of that, I feed them to stop the madness.

Their late night feeding is the real problem.

A while back I started waking at around 2:00 AM—at which time I wandered off to the bathroom so I could pee on the toilet seat and floor.  This activity eventually evolved into me offering a snack to the cats.  Obviously, this soon became a firm requirement for a late night feeding.

The problem here is that cats operate on cat time.  Cat time does not account for daylight savings shifts.  When we “fell back” for daylight savings this fall, my shift from 2:00 AM back to 1:00 AM did not translate into cat time.

Now, each night, a few minutes before or after 1:00 AM, I wake in my bed convinced that someone just whacked me with a spoon.  There on my bed or maybe on the floor, I will find either 20 or a full 40 pounds of cat glaring at me.  Failure to feed them is not an option.

--Mitchell Hegman

Another Form of Wisdom

For most of my life, I wanted everyone to like me.  Now that I have gotten older, I am concerned only that children and their pets like me.

--Mitchell Hegman

You’ve Got to Crack a Few Eggs

You have probably heard the old maxim: “You’ve got to crack a few eggs to make an omelet.”

Yesterday, I proved the maxim to be true when (with the help of a company technician) I installed a receiver dish to pick up a new feed for my internet service.  The dish is required to be in direct line of sight with a service feed on a tower atop Hogback Mountain, some eleven miles northeast of my house.

I more than cracked a few eggs to complete this project.  Following is my updated version of the omelet maxim:

You’ve got to poke holes in your walls, move furniture, fish wires, mount a new dish, crawl in the attic, trudge through snow, cut down two large pine trees, break a chainsaw, get a few oil stains on your deck, bump your head, stop for a drink of Scotch, install a new wireless router, and input in a new password to connect to a new internet provider.

My version does not have the snap of the original…but there it is.

--Mitchell Hegman