My Train is a Comin’

Given an opportunity, Jimi Hendrix could bring forth a wall of sound from his electric guitar.  Today, I am posting something a bit softer.  This is the acoustic version of one of the songs he wrote.

--Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzL7G0jItzU

What’s Creepier than a Spider?

Hard as it is for me to imagine, there is something creepier than spiders.  Today, I am posting a video as proof.

--Mitchell Hegman

Video Link:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLA9Vark-TI

The T-shirt Problem

T-shirts (not to be too technical) have four openings.  One for your neck.  Two for your arms.  One really big one at the bottom where the rest of you sticks out. 

I learned as a child that there is pretty much only one way to climb inside a t-shirt when you are dressing.  You need start at the big opening at the bottom of the shirt and wriggle in from there, head first.

Early this morning, I climbed into a t-shirt.

This did not go well.

Given there are four holes (including a big obvious one) in a t-shirt, what do you suppose the chances are that I might find the wrong hole fifteen times in a row?

--Mitchell Hegman

Observations from a Shopping Excursion at Costco

1. A shopping flatbed loaded down with two kayaks squeaks exactly the same as the idlers on the chairlift at The Great Divide ski area.

2. You meet the nicest people at the frozen crab legs.

3. People become very quiet when they get near the toilet paper.

4. You can cause personal injury with a pineapple.

--Mitchell Hegman

Post and Pole Fence

Today, I am reposting a couple of my photographs from 2011.  The photographs were taken early on a stormy morning at one of the public access points for Lake Helena.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Job Well Done

At one time, I set the bar pretty high insofar as what qualified as “a job well done.”

Routing a couple hundred feet of two-inch conduit above a suspending ceiling qualified.

Driving from one end of Montana to the other qualified.

I’ve lowered the bar some in more recent years.  At present, finding a pair of AA batteries in my junk drawer qualifies.     

--Mitchell Hegman

Familiarity

Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.

—Ouida

Not So Much Spring

Usually, by mid-April, the snow has receded from the narrow valley in which my cabin is located and I am able to drive in and see how everything has overwintered.  Yesterday, that girl, her sister, and I drove up to the cabin to do just that.

Big news: We did not experience a normal winter.

Something close to three feet of dense, crusty snow remains spread across most of the valley like a hard shell.  The road in is still no more than a narrow trail cut between snowbanks.  Parts of the road have degraded into full-blown mud bogs.  All along the creek, the once upright willows have been squashed utterly flat by winter’s inordinately heavy snows.

Not terribly far from the cabin, I managed to find a wide enough spot in the road to park.  The girls pulled heavy boots onto their feet and we crabbed across the surface of the snow to reach the cabin.  Each of us crashed through the snow at various points—often finding ourselves buried nearly waist deep.

We found the cabin still held in snow—looking like a precious stone fixed in place by a heavy white setting.

We poked around.  The cabin had fared well.

After leaving the cabin, we drove into Lincoln.  There, we stopped at Lambkin’s for a Bloody Mary.  I chatted about the snow and our long winter with the woman tending the bar as she scuttled about mixing the drinks.

Long, this one.

When I asked her how deep the snow was in Lincoln at heart of winter, she said: “Deep enough that we had a few roofs collapse under the weight.”

We drove home by way of Stemple Pass.

As we ascended in elevation, we encountered cabins and homes along the road with several feet of snow still remaining on their roofs.   I spotted one log cabin with an addition that had experienced a total roof collapse.  Every mountainside supported at least one temporary cascade of snowmelt crashing down onto the roadway.

Not so much spring just yet.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Consider

Early this morning, while soaking in my hut tub, I witnessed as a meteor stabbed a brilliant blade of white deep into our starry sky.

Consider: the chunk of debris that I saw as a shooting star was born of violence and then hurled through empty space, without meaningful contact, for untold years, only to perish in a brief and nameless flash upon reaching our vital atmosphere.   

Consider: some people are an equivalent.

-- Mitchell Hegman

A Love Story in the Potato Chip Aisle

Had Kimberly reached for plain potato chips she might never had married.

In reaching for barbeque chips, she inadvertently knocked the vapor cigarette from Roger’s hand as he stood nearby.

“What is that?” she asked, watching Roger retrieve the vapor cigarette.    That was the first vapor cigarette she had ever seen.

“That is the beginning,” Roger told her.

“Beginning of what?”

“Of us.”

That struck Kimberly as a curious thing to say.  Roger was a total stranger.  She was four-hundred miles from home and only passing through.  Just the same, Roger’s voice sounded warm, somehow.

And Roger, as she learned later, was seldom wrong about matters of the heart.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Crossovers

Late yesterday evening, I glanced over at that girl while we were sitting together on the sofa and asked: “Is that a jet I am hearing?”

“Yes,” she answered.

I could hear deep rumbling over the sound of our television.  The sound was profound enough I felt it lightly tickling at my skin.

Curious, I stepped outside the front door and looked up into the sky.  High above our valley, slicing through thin layers of clouds, I saw a formation of four jets flying straight southward.

Big jets.  Transports or Bombers.

I returned to the sofa and gave the jets no more thought.

At 4:30 this morning, I stepped out the front door after getting my coffee started and scanned the stars, as is always my habit.  Low and to the east, I noticed what I thought was a cluster of four stars blinking.

What would make stars blink like that, I wondered?

I studied them more closely.

They were advancing against the stationary stars nearby.

Curious, I walked out into the chill prairie darkness and studied the blinking stars.  The stars began to approach more rapidly as I watched.   Soon, they transformed into a diamond formation of four jets flying westward high above our valley.

Big jets.  Transports or bombers.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Another Cat Jump Fail

I can’t help it…this is funny stuff.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Video Link:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN5KIUNfYGA

Spoonerisms

A spoonerism is an error or purposeful play in speech where consonants, vowels, or morphemes are switched between two corresponding words.  A famous and somewhat crude example is saying “He is a fart smeller” as opposed to “He is a smart feller.”

Spoonerisms are named after a rather smart feller named Reverend William Archibald Spooner.   Mr. Spooner, a Warden of New College, Oxford, was afflicted with a propensity to regularly (and accidentally) flip words in what we now term spoonerisms.

Spooner, who died in 1930, was an albino.  He also suffered from poor eyesight and was said to be somewhat absentminded.  One of his more famous spoonerisms was this: “It is kisstomary to cuss the bride.”

Pretty good stuff, right there.

Spoonerisms and other forms of wordplay are something of a bane in my life.

I enjoy them a bit too much.

In my mind, I don’t walk “around” something.  I walk “asquare.”  I don’t “forget” something.  I “fiveget.”  A carpenter buddy and I have been calling the backing boards inside walls “fronting.”

My list on this kind of wordplay is fairly long.

On occasion, I will fiveget my place and use wordplay during the course of an important meeting or while instructing a class.  I suppose I should, at this stage of my life, outgrow such childish habits.  But…no…I have a few more to toss out there befive my done is day.

-- Mitchell Hegman

In Place

I am not a neat freak.  I can live with a shirt or two draped over the back of a dining room chair.  A dust bunny or two tagging along with air currents sweeping across my kitchen floor does not particularly trouble me.  That girl and I will sometimes allow plates, cups, bowls, and glasses to stack into modern art in the kitchen sink. 

At the same time, I am bothered immensely by some articles from everyday living I perceive as out of place.  Papers, for example, are a big thing.  Any sort of papers.  Newspapers.  Notes.  Magazines.  I find myself constantly stacking and aligning them relative to whatever environment they occupy.

I have a habit of studying and working on my sofa with papers and books aligned around me. My late wife sometimes tweaked my arrangements when I left the room.  She derived great amusement in watching me—quite automatically—nudging everything back in order immediately upon my return.  It took me years to catch on.

On occasion, something more feral than books and papers will catch my attention.  The other day this happened with a scattering of cuties that girl had left on the counter.  After finding them scattered haphazardly across the counter on a couple trips to the refrigerator, I arranged them into an arrangement that did not bother me.

On a later trip to the fridge, I realized what I had done.   I captured a photograph with my smarter-than-me-phone.

-- Mitchell Hegman

On a Country Road

I live pretty far out in the sticks and must drive a fair stretch of country road to reach my house.  Over the years, I have had some interesting crossings.  I have also found some odd things lying in the road.

Back some twenty or so years ago, there was a stark white plastic bag that literally migrated around the countryside for several weeks before I managed to catch it.  The bag, filled with wind, skittered across the road in front of me on several occasions and tumbled off into the expanse.  Once, I saw the bag swirling up in a faraway dust devil.

Honestly, for a few days I wondered if the darned thing was alive.  Eventually, the bag snagged itself on a barbed wire fence alongside the road and I managed to grab it.

Early one autumn morning I found a whole (only recently removed from the water) three-pound carp lying in the center of the road.  On another morning, I found a bath towel with frozen eighteen-inch rainbow trout wrapped inside.

And sometimes country living can be dirty.  In the scandalous sense, I mean.  I once found, at the edge of the road, a magazine filled with explicit sexual images.

Late one summer afternoon, driving home from work, a pair of low-flying ravens crossed in front of me—one of them clutching a live three-foot bullsnake in its talons.

A couple days ago, I came upon the hoof of a deer in the center of the road.  Just the hoof.  I stopped to investigate, captured an image, and kicked the hoof off the road.

Strange stuff is afoot out here.  Play on words intended.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Postage Stamps

This morning, I plunked down onto my sofa with 20 pounds of housecat and a cup of coffee and began surfing through television channels.  After rejecting a few news channels and some entertainment rubbish, I decided to watch How It’s Made.  The first episode I watched detailed the process of making postage stamps.

I am going come right out and say this: Making postage stamps is wicked complicated and cool.

-- Mitchell Hegman

A Committee of Vultures

Turkey vultures are the answer to the question: “What’s ugly and eats the dead?”

I mean turkey vultures no offense here.  But they are not curvy and sleek the way a dove is.  They don’t sing pretty.  And, well, they literally eat the dead.

Northern populations of turkey vultures are “highly migratory” according to www.hawkmountain.org.  This means, essentially, they are smart enough to get out of Montana as soon as the water skiers clear off the lakes at the end of summer, and they don’t return until motorized vehicles start mowing down gophers and skunks emerging from long slumbers in their dens in the spring.  They overwinter in the Southern United States and Central America.

I will admit, vultures are impressive to watch circling up through thermals and gliding low through gullies in search of the recently departed.  They are easy to spot with wingspans that can reach six feet.

Yesterday morning, following a snowstorm from the previous afternoon and evening, I found a committee of five turkey vultures resting in a snag just below my house.  I watched the birds for several minutes.  They were there long enough that I managed to capture a dozen or so photographs.

--Mitchell Hegman

Waiting for the Second Album

You may not immediately recognize the name Willis Alan Ramsey.   I would guess, however, you know his work.  Ramsey is songwriter.  Early in the 1970s he wrote a song that became known as “Muskrat Love.”  America recorded the song on an album in 1973.  The Captain and Tennille ushered the song to #4 on the pop charts in 1976.  Jimmy Buffett, Jerry Jeff Walker, Waylon Jennings, Widespread Panic, and Shawn Colvin are among a few other artists who also recorded his songs.

That’s quite a feat for a guy who recorded just one album back in 1972.

Interestingly, Willis Alan Ramsey played gigs in Montana way back when.  One of the songs on his album is “Goodbye to Old Missoula.”

After recording his album in 1972, Ramsey had a falling-out with Shelter Records.  He stopped commercially recording his songs.

Ramsey remains out there playing and writing songs.  In 1996, Lyle Lovett recorded his song “That’s Right, You’re Not From Texas” and navigated it into a hit.

Still, his fans (I am one of them) await a second album.

When pressed by someone about recording a second album, Ramsey says the coolest thing: “What’s wrong with the first one?” he asks.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Waking Late

Each morning, I wake somewhere between 4:30 AM and 5:01 AM.  I wake at exactly 5:00 on a fairly regular basis.  This morning, for whatever reason, I slept solidly until 5:20.

The extra twenty minutes of sleep did not help me.  I woke feeling sideways and heavy.  Sleeping in has always made me feel groggy and slow.

Now, sitting here drinking coffee nearly an hour after waking, I feel as though recovering from a punch to the head.

When my television remote landed me on a show called “How to Lighten Age Spots,” I actually sat here watching for a few minutes.  Seemed like pretty decent programming to me.

I think I am ready to be bubble-wrapped over here.

-- Mitchell Hegman 

Just Another Kid Playing in the Mud

Movie captured by a hidden game camera.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWfvv2Blk48

Image Crisis

Here is the latest.

I had something of a traumatic experience in the bathroom yesterday morning.  Not to put too fine a point on this: I accidentally caught a glimpse myself naked in the mirror.

What I saw was not wholly human.

At one time I had something of a partially tanned man-shape.  Over more recent years, I have whitened and my shape has becomes somewhat unstructured.   

My first thought when I saw myself was:  “I look like a white potato with arms!”

Actually, that was my second and third thought as well.

I’m ready to be baked over here.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Early Morning Word Association

Cat = Coffee

Socks = Coffee

Water = Coffee

Television = Coffee

Newspaper = Coffee

__________ = Coffee

-- Mitchell Hegman

Seeking Help

Seeking help from others when you are struggling is not an indication you have folded in the face of your own human frailties.  It’s the surest sign you have accessed your ultimate inner strength. 

-- Mitchell Hegman

Cat Jump Fail

-- Mitchell Hegman

Accidental Seafood

I’ve experienced some unusual accidents.  There was that time, for example, I hit myself on the forehead with a hammer.  And there was that time, as a kid, when I accidentally swallowed a tuning whistle. 

Yesterday, on a shopping excursion to purchase a beef brisket, I accidentally purchased almost $40.00 worth of sea food.

Here’s how it happened.

I walked in the grocery store and—BAM—there was this huge temporary display of crab legs, lobster tails, and shrimp on ice.  I nearly bumped into the display.  As I skirted around glass cases, a young kid behind the display says: “Those are some pretty nice looking legs, right?”

And that’s when it happened.  I accidentally blurted out: “Give me two and a half pounds.”

That’s how accidents happen.  You don’t have time to think, to turn back.  You smack right into something.

While I was waiting for the kid to gather up and bag my legs, a woman whom I would guess to be in her mid-seventies walked up and peered into the case.  “You’d better buy some legs, too.” I suggested to her.

“I’m thinking about some of those Canadian lobster tails,” she said.  She winked at me.  “I haven’t had any Canadian tail in ages.”

“Oh, my,” I said

The kid handed me the legs.  A little flushed, I walked away with my accidental seafood.

-- Mitchell Hegman

The Retirement Challenge

I’ve had a few people tell me that making the transition from a lifetime of working and saving for retirement to actually retiring and drawing out your resources is a little weird, if not difficult.  In a month, I will be doing just that.  My retirement checks will begin rolling in.

I think I’ve got this one.

-- Mitchell Hegman

A Gallery of Cruel Days

You’ve entered a gallery that celebrates your cruel days.  Here, open wounds and broken treasure display together.  Some colors hurt your eyes and many of the titles on the works make no sense.  Take that poorly rendered portrait of an old lover entitled: “Forward Thinking.”

An entire wall features giant photos of you with your bad teenage complexion.

For a moment, you lean against a bronzed sculpture of your drunken father urinating on his own shoe.  When you do, the entire weight of the sculpture is on your shoulder.

Though entirely alone with only your own echoes in the gallery, you feel as though pressed by an unruly crowd as you stagger through.

Getting in the gallery was free.

It’s in leaving that you’ll pay.

-- Mitchell Hegman

The Magic Swing

Not far from Kindly Castle, there was a green park where all the children from Kindly Kingdom went to play.  The park was filled with branchy trees for climbing and places to run.  Best of all, there was a swing set with a magic swing.

The magic swing looked exactly like all the other swings.  The seat hung from chains, just like all the others.  And just like all the others, the magic swing sometimes squeaked like a mouse as children swung back and forth through the air.

But if you close your eyes and say two magic words at just the right time when swinging in the magic swing, something very special happens.

Little Princess Mackenna often played in the park with all the other children.  Sometimes, she ran in circles with other little girls.  Sometimes, she kicked balls far across the grass.  But the magic swing was her favorite, especially when she said the magic words. 

The magic words were regular words, really.  They did not seem so special.   But if Princess Mackenna said them at the right time—just when the swing squeaked—she could close her eyes and fly away through the air.

Princess Mackenna played on the magic swing every time she went to the park.  She sailed back and forth in the magic swing.  She waited for the mousy squeak.  And then she would say the words: “So fun!”

And off she would fly.

Above the leafy green trees and park.  Up into the puffy clouds.  Over Kindly Castle.  Over the fish pond—where she could look down and see polka dotted koi fish swimming about in the water.  High above the river twisting and sparkling across the land.  Above a train pulling rattling railcars into the woods.

Princess Mackenna could fly for as long she kept her eyes shut.

But as soon as she opened her eyes, the magic brought her back to the swing and the park and the warm sun above.  Back and forth she would swing, waiting for another squeak.  Waiting to shut her eyes and fly.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Note to Spring

Dear Spring,

I woke to a dusting of snow again this morning.  It was only a little snow.  But snow is snow and you are supposed to be delivering sunshine and flowers and the occasional big guy out running for the first time in ten years.

You need to stop with the snow and release the big guy.

I will supply the flowers.

Mitch

-- Mitchell Hegman

Along the Way

Posted today are a couple “drive by shootings” I captured with my smarter-than-me-phone.  The photographs were captured while that girl and I were sailing through the rangelands on Montana Highway 89 between Ringling and Wilsall early this week.

They are not particularly great photographs; but looking at them feels just like driving Montana’s open ranchlands.  And that feels pretty good.

-- Mitchell Hegman