I wrote a post today, but I’m not publishing it. It wasn’t that it was terrible; it just wasn’t me.
During the pandemic, my daily experiences have been reduced to a pattern of routine activities. I’m not complaining, and I know that my life is fuller than many. I have things to do, people to connect with, and new knowledge to learn. These make me happy, but they have not provided me with new stories to tell you, dear reader.
When I started this blog, I had great ambition. I thought it would be a way to hone my writing into an honest and direct style. In a grandiose way, I thought of it as a platform for my next career. That was not to be.
I realized that my talents are best utilized on the small screen of individuals rather than the big screen of being an influencer. My blog mission changed as I sought to convey my ideas to this smaller group.
I hope that some of my writings helped others. Also, I know that I have former patients who read this blog, and writing it was a way to stay connected with them. I have worked with some patients for years, and I continue to think about them. I am no longer their doctor, but I want them to know that I still care about them. I want them to have successful lives.
The most important group that I write this blog for is my children. I want them to have a record of who I am and what I stand for.
At this time, I will pause the blog with the hope that time will allow me to gain inspiration of where it should go next. I plan to stop publishing the blog for the next six weeks-although I may write if I’m struck by something.
I’m thinking about ways to freshen my content. One idea that my daughter, Grace, suggested was to have theme weeks. One week might be a story with a message; another may be a trusted recipe, a third may be a useful review or tip. Others have suggested that I write only when inspired to do so. I don’t that will work as it would be too easy for me to procrastinate.
I want your ideas of where I should go with this blog. You can reach me at mike_kunaSPAM@hotmail.com. (remove the word SPAM from the address-it is there to confuse email gathering robots). List “Blog ideas” in the title. I promise to read every suggestion.
Goodbye for now. I’ll be back during the week of March 7th.
The little boy in me has always liked building and fixing things. I have done limited repair jobs in the past, but I have been hampered by a lack of knowledge, tools, and time.
On occasion, my interest level would overcome these restrictions, and over the years, I have tackled a few projects. I crafted a desk, hand-built many computers, attempted basic home decorating, and completed some other small projects.
When I moved into my house 30 years ago, I subscribed to a home repair “book of the month” club. Every 30 days, I would receive a glossy covered book highlighting a particular topic, like heating and air conditioning repair. When a fix-it task came up, I would dig into that collection, but I often found that I didn’t have the right tools or that the instructions were too generic to help a novice.
Let’s face it, when you are working 60-70 hours a week, it becomes easier to call someone to do your repair work. Also, I have been fortunate to know my friend, Tom. Tom has both the tools and the talent. He has always been happy to help me, and I rely on him for those jobs that are well beyond my pay grade. However, I don’t want to take advantage of Tom’s goodwill. He is busy enough without my demands.
When you have lived in a house for 30 years, appliances break. In fact, they seem to bust more frequently as their technology advances. I still have the basic 1984 electric stove and fridge that came with my home; they now live in my basement. However, the same cannot be said of their much more expensive replacements. Currently, I’m on my third new range, fridge, and dishwasher. These devices promised miracle features, but they were less forthcoming when it came to reliability.
Replacement stove #2 was a technological marvel with a convection oven, bread proofing drawer, induction stovetop, and enough colored LEDs that it could have been mistaken for a Christmas tree. Over the 10 years I had it, the device was repaired at least 3 times. Each service call was more expensive than the last. The Fourth and final repair attempt happened a few years back. The oven had gone nuclear; I would set it for 350F and come back to a meal that had been reduced to charcoal briquettes. The repair guy’s consultation was $150. “I can stay and monitor your temperature rise, but that is going to cost you a lot more,” He said. The man kindly told me how to reprogram the oven’s micro-computer but informed me that if my efforts failed, it would make more sense to buy a new stove, as it was unlikely that they still made the logic boards for my model. I re-calibrated the oven’s thermostat, and I was able to get a few more months of life from the stove, but soon it was back to its old tricks and failed right before Thanksgiving 2018.
Thanksgiving is a big holiday as we have guests arriving from multiple states. Many stay for several days, and they eat all of their meals at our house. The logistics of making Thanksgiving dinner for 20 plus numerous breakfasts, lunches, and dinners are always daunting but felt impossible without a working oven. That year we pulled it off with a microwave, toaster oven, and our old basement range. Basement cooking is not a sustainable option, and we bought another stove the following Monday. Kitchen appliances may be more energy efficient than they were in the past, but that doesn’t offset their additional repair and replacement costs. I can’t say that my life has changed for the better now that I can tap in 350F on a stove’s keypad instead of turning a simple dial.
Julie shouted from the kitchen, “Mike, I don’t think that the dishwasher is working.” “Oh,” I replied. “What makes you think that,” I said. “The dishes don’t look washed,” was her rational reply. “I think you need to fix it.”
Editor’s note: In today’s world of equality, why is it assumed that males are magically endowed with appliance repair knowledge?
I came into the kitchen for a visual inspection. “Yep, they still look dirty,” was my sage response. At this point, I would normally say that we needed to call a repair service. However, the dishwasher is around 10 years old, and I knew that a repair person would charge $150 just to come out. Any repair would likely be several hundred dollars more. In this COVID era, did I really want a stranger in my house, and did I want to spend $300 to have an old machine fixed? It was time to put on a metaphorical hard hat, assume my manly responsibilities, and attempt to fix the appliance myself.
I went to the fount of all knowledge, and I typed into YouTube’s search engine. “Whirlpool dishwasher not cleaning dishes.”. Up popped several videos with titles containing words like “Easy fix” and “Simple repair.” A chill went up my spine. I have gone down “Easy” and “Simple” paths in the past, and I have learned that these words are really code for “Difficult” and “Demoralizing.”
One Christmas, when my girls were small, we purchased an entire play kitchen whose box loudly proclaimed, “Easy assembly, only requires a common screwdriver.” The kitchen had a pretend oven, stove, microwave, and sink. There was a little counter and several cabinets for pretend food and plastic pots. I knew my kids would be thrilled on Christmas morning.
It was Christmas Eve, and both Julie and I were involved with various tasks designed to ease Santa’s burden. By the time I got to the kitchen toy, it was well past 10 PM. I was tired and irritable.
The panels that made up the “kitchen” were made of a molded plastic. The hollow kind that has a waxy candle smell. I scanned the incomprehensible instructions and started to snap Tab A into Slot B. The process was not smooth. Some problems were due to my fatigue and unwillingness to interpret Chinese English into English. I would accomplish one portion of the assembly to discover that I needed to do something else first. Also, the kitchen had at least 100 stickers that had to be precisely placed. Despite all effort, I found that I was putting some stickers in the wrong spots and placing them askew in others. However, this was the least of my problems. The various panels that made up the kitchen’s structure simply would not snap together. In fact, two were almost ¼ inch off. I pushed, swore, and pushed some more. I tried banging the large panels with a hardcover dictionary and even incorporated Julie’s muscle help. It was now well past midnight, and I was in a panic. This was their major gift, and it lay in ruin on our family room floor. I felt wholly inadequate as a father. I couldn’t put together a simple toy that proclaimed that it was easy to assemble. I was a failure.
I was physically agitated, my heart was pounding, and I was sweating. I needed to calm myself. I leaned back in my Lazyboy and popped up its footrest. I closed my eyes and meditated to calm my mind. My breathing started to slow, and my palpitations quieted. “Breath in through the nose, count to 5, exhale slowly from the mouth,” I repeated to myself. I took myself to a quiet place and opened my mind up to new possibilities. Immediately, an answer came to me, but it had to be the wrong answer. “Go into the garage and get your sledgehammer.” “What!” I thought. “Am I supposed to wack this piece of… with a sledgehammer? I’m not that angry!”
I couldn’t run to the store and buy a new present, it was the middle of the night. “What good is all of this meditation if all I can come up with is a ridiculous solution. Universe, give me another answer!” “Get the sledgehammer” was my reply. “You win, but I’m blaming you when my kids are crying tomorrow morning!” I informed the little thought in my head.
I had Julie hold the two offending panels, and I made sure that she was as far as possible from my intended point of impact. I tried a few light taps, nothing happened. I focused again on the target zone. I drew out my arm, and with both energy and intent, I swung the hammer. I momentarily closed my eyes… I didn’t want to see the toy shattered and destroyed. CRACK! And click, the two errant panels mated. The hammer worked! I completed the rest of the job feeling a combination of exhaustion and exhilaration.
My kids played with that “kitchen” for many years, and they have served me countless plastic donuts and pretend cups of coffee that were heated to perfection on decal burners. The kitchen was one of their favorite toys of all time. However, the build experience left an indelible stain on the words “Easy” and “Simple.”
You can now understand why I shuttered when I saw those mocking words on the YouTube videos. But what choice did I have? I had to submit myself; like Princess Leia’s plea was to Obi-Wan, YouTube was my only hope.
The first video told me what to do but didn’t show me how to do it. “Remove the plastic retaining clips,” it commanded. I wondered, “But how?” The second video was more explicit but just made me more confused. “Use your number 20 star driver to release the filter assembly.” To me, screwdrivers only come in two forms, flathead and Phillips. I went digging through my little toolbox and came up with some bits that I thought would fit. Amazingly, I had bought a generic set that had the required star driver. “Victory is mine!” I erroneously thought.
With my MacBook propped up on the kitchen table, I approached the dishwasher and faced another realization. All of the videos that I watched had a freestanding dishwasher, and some even had the door removed. My dishwasher was stuck in the crook of our L shaped counter, which allowed access only from the right side. Just placing my screwdriver required the flexibility of a 14-year-old Olympic-level gymnast. I conjured up ideas of me wearing a Speedo as I attacked the dishwasher’s screws. I quickly and permanently put those thoughts out of my mind. I stretched, made a lot of manly grunting sounds, and stretched some more. I was able to reach the two screws that attach the dishwasher’s pump to the upper sprayer with effort.
Rats, they were not “star tips”; they appeared to be rectangular. I dug into my bit collection and found another bit, and with more grunting (and a little colored language), I removed them. I twisted the column ¼ turn and pulled it out of the dishwasher. This revealed the 4 star screws that held the filter assembly in place. I removed those screws and pried the unit from the dishwasher. With a little more banging and swearing, I was able to dislodge the actual filter from the unit for a close inspection. There was a little grease on the filter, but it didn’t look too bad. I washed it off with dishwashing detergent and started the reassembly process. This time I employed the help of my son William to re-screw the upper sprayer water supply tube. His youth gave him a flexibility advantage.
I found some dirty dishes-an an easy task in our house and loaded them into my newly fixed machine. I dropped in a little packet of detergent, pressed “Normal Cycle,” and hit start. The dishwasher sprang into action, and I could hear the sound of water churning in its chamber. I checked the results an hour later with hopeful anticipation and discovered… That the cups were as dirty as they were when I placed them inside. “Crap and double crap!” I muttered to myself. After a little investigation, I discovered that water was not getting up the mid and top-level sprayers. It was time to revisit YouTube.
Several videos later, I determined that the likely problem was a defective “food chopper,” a part of the dishwasher that chops larger bits of food into ones that can be flushed down the drain. This repair would require going to a level deeper than my “filter clean.”. By now, I was committed and convinced myself that I could tackle this new level of complexity. I logged into Amazon and ordered the chopper assembly for a reasonable $11. I also purchased a real set of screwdrivers for another $35. “The right tool for the right job,” I said to myself. Secretly, I was hoping that the shipment would be delayed.
Two days later, the part and the new screwdrivers arrived. My Kathryn informed me that Julie told her to tell me that the dishwasher needed to be fixed. In a world of email, texting, and FaceTime, we can still practice indirect communication at our home. “Well, then you are going to help me,” I informed Kathryn. “Sure,” was her reply.
The food chopper repair starts with the removal of the same parts as in the filter cleaning job. I approached this portion of the project with the hubris that came from my earlier disassembly successes. The next stage was more challenging but still within my skill level. I removed the plastic housing around the food chopper and pulled out the part. Holy cow, this had to be the problem. The chopper blade was frozen, and there was at least a quarter-inch of super disgusting greasy slime plugging the blade’s mesh plate. No water could get past that mess.
I made the repair, this time utilizing Kathryn to screw in the upper rack feed tube. In went dirty dishes; I programmed in a wash cycle and pressed the start button. After about 30 seconds, I heard the machine fill with water-a hopeful sound. Then it happened… the sound. A sound similar to that of a 747 taking off from 10 feet away. I looked at Kathryn, and Kathryn looked at me. We both raised our eyebrows. “Maybe the chopper needs to work its way in,” I said hopefully. But the sound didn’t go away; in fact, it seemed to get louder. At one point, I thought that the dishwasher was going to take off. “Crap!” I thought. I hit the cancel button to drain the machine.
I pushed down the door, removed the dirty dishes and the racks, disassembled the washers innards, and examined my installation. Honestly, it looked just like it should-at least it looked like the YouTube example. I pondered my options and called on my past experience. I reached up to the counter and located my little tool kit. I felt around until I found it. Yes, this is what I needed… a hammer. I took aim and gave the chopper assembly a good wack. I heard a “click.” Having disassembled and reassembled the unit 6 times, the reassembly job went quickly. I put my dirty dishes back in the machine, pressed buttons, and hoped for the best.
I heard the water enter, then a relay clicked. I held my breath in anticipation. Joy of joys, the 747 had left the runway, and I was greeted with the sweet, sweet sound of my dishwasher humming. I patted myself on the back for my mechanical expertise and felt very manly indeed. It was fixed!
They say that if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. How true, and in this case, I “nailed” the repair with a hammer. From plastic play kitchens to large kitchen appliances, never doubt the power of a blunt object.
Christmas is approaching, but many of my family’s traditional get-togethers have been canceled. One of them is our cousin’s Christmas party called Droby Fest. For those who are uninformed, a Droby is a Slovak sausage made from various ground meats, rice, and potatoes. It is usually baked wrapped with bacon, and it was one of the classic dishes that my grandmother served on Christmas Eve.
As far as I know, Droby sausage can’t be bought; you make it. I have some less-than-fond childhood memories of turning a hand-cranked meat grinder for hours. Besides my past grinding torture, I love Droby and look forward to eating it every Christmas.
My cousin, Ken, took over the manufacturing of Droby for the Cousin Christmas party, which is a pot luck affair of salads, main dishes, and desserts. Droby Fest is one of several other cousin-wide get-togethers that were canceled in 2020. Others included the Kousin Kampout and the KFR (Kuna Family Reunion).
My cousin Kathy suggested that in place of Droby Fest we do a recipe exchange and ZOOM call. Somehow that morphed into my niece, Jeannine compiling all of the recipes into an on-line cookbook, which then became a family history/cookbook/photo album. As far as I know, Jeannine and my cousins Kathy and Kris have formed a committee to accomplish this monumental task.
I contributed a couple of recipes, but Jeannine also needed old photos. Unfortunately, most of my old pictures were on old computers… and we all know what happens to old computers. However, I remembered another option. Around 20 years ago I wanted to digitize old family photos, burn them on a CD, and give copies of that CD to my siblings. At that time, I also labeled names on the photos as I knew that pictures without identification would be useless to future generations.
All that I needed to do was to select the photos and email them to my niece. However, there were two problems.The first was finding the CD ROM that I burned 20 years ago. The second was finding a way to play a CD ROM since none of my current computers have a CD drive.
After some searching, I found the photo CD, and luckily Julie has a plug-and-play CD drive that she uses to watch old TV shows. I connected the drive to my MacBook, inserted the CD ROM, and held my breath. It loaded! However, there were no thumbnail images, so I had to manually click on every single file to view it. Since the process was a bit of a pain, I thought I would get some extra mileage for my efforts and post some of the photos here. Grab a cup of tea and come down my memory lane. These are common photos of a typical family, wholly unremarkable… and because of this, I find them charming. (but I may be biased)
A few weeks back, I enjoyed camping at the Medicine Bow National Forest in Wyoming. It was a beautiful and peaceful spot. The campsite had a lot going for it, but it lacked modern conveniences, including a usable cell phone signal. I did have enough of a connection to send out slow text messages, but that was about it.
However, I needed to have information. I was traveling and hiking, and I needed local weather reports. I was camping during a national pandemic, and I had to know the news on that topic. I would be returning home via South Dakota just as the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally was commencing. I wanted up-to-date information on that event as it would directly impact what National Parks and Monuments I would visit.
Over the years, I have become dependent on the Internet. I stream music, videos, and radio stations. I read the news, and check the weather. The Internet has become a vital link that keeps me connected and safe. However, it is an extremely vulnerable utility. I have a cable Internet connection at home, which is then broadcast via a wireless router to my devices. On the road, I use cell towers to grab the Internet on my phone. These options are both complex and resource-heavy. If a cable is broken or a cell tower is down, I have no internet. If I can’t recharge my power-hungry devices, I’m also out of luck.
Climate change has escalated natural events in the world. While I was camping, forest fires were ravaging the Pacific Coast, and large parts of Louisiana were dealing with Hurricane Laura’s aftermath. Massive areas were without power, and no power means no internet. As climate change escalates, we can only expect more forest fires, hurricanes, floods, and tornadoes. With these natural disasters, we will have more utility outages. Beyond nature, hardwired systems are vulnerable to cyber attacks, as well as equipment failures. The Internet is a fantastic resource, but it is very fragile and vulnerable.
Back at my Wyoming campsite, I was without the Internet, but I did have an ace-in-the-hole. I had brought with me an old portable radio. It was a Sony device that I had had for many years. This straightforward gadget gave me all of the information I needed, as I could pick up multiple FM and AM radio stations. I checked the weather, kept abreast of local and national news, and listened to music and entertainment. Some of you may be asking, “Why not use your car radio?” That certainly could be an option, but I make an effort to not use car accessories when the vehicle isn’t running. I don’t want a dead battery miles away from civilization.
I have traveled the country, and I have never been to a place where I couldn’t receive radio. Typically, I can hear multiple stations at any given location, which is not surprising. In the US, there are more than 10,000 FM radio stations and almost 5,000 AM radio stations. Radio waves cover the US. Receiving radio signals only requires a simple, efficient, and inexpensive device. On average, a portable radio powered by AA batteries can run around 50 hours at moderate volume, and a radio that uses larger D batteries can run 150-200 hours. With careful use, a radio could provide the user with several months of vital information. Compare that to my iPhone, which barely makes it through a day without needing a recharge.
Twenty years ago, most households had at least one portable radio, but that is not the case today. I asked around my limited COVID circle, and most homes didn’t have a working battery-operated radio. People invest in all sorts of expensive things to protect themselves. A workable radio can be had for less than the cost of a pizza. Remember, disasters are on the rise, and radio is a much more reliable resource than home Internet, cable TV, over-the-air TV, smart speakers, and cell phone service.
Where is the hurricane going to make landfall? When is the emergency freshwater truck going to arrive? Where are the medical services being offered? Is the forest fire advancing? What roads are open, and what highways are closed? Will we have freezing temperatures tonight? These are just a small sampling of the type of questions you need answered in a dangerous situation. Radio has these answers.
If you have read this far, let me give you the bottom line. Go on Amazon or go to your local store and buy a portable FM/AM radio plus batteries. If you plan on using the radio for day-to-day entertainment, have a spare set of batteries available. If you will keep the radio for only emergencies, don’t leave the batteries in the radio, but keep a fresh set of batteries nearby. Good batteries can last for up to a decade when appropriately stored (a cool, dry place).
Let’s have some fun for those of you who are still on board and get into the nitty-gritty.
Portable radios come in several types. A typical pocket radio sells for $10-$20 and uses AA batteries. They do the job, but their small speakers and controls can make using them a chore. Larger portable radios typically sell in the $20-$100 range. They offer bigger controls and better-sounding speakers. Overall, I prefer a larger radio over a pocket radio. Also, it is best to have a radio that is simple to operate. In many instances, this means buying a radio that has a traditional layout, rather than a thousand buttons and switches. However, the end-user should determine what is best for their needs.
Portable radios come in several styles. Some are analog looking-they have an actual dial with a pointer. Some are digital looking and use buttons and digital displays. However, under the hood, most current portable radios are digital (DSP radios). They perform all of their functions on a single IC chip. These devices are actually dedicated computers designed to receive radio waves and to convert those waves into audio signals.
I am a radio lover and collector, but I haven’t bought a new radio for over a decade. To research this post, I watched hours of radio reviews on YouTube. In the end, I felt that I needed to buy some modern radios to gain a proper understanding of what worked and what didn’t work. Consumer-level radios are inexpensive, so I thought I would go this extra step for you, dear reader.
I found some interesting differences between these new radios versus those I had purchased in the past. New radios use “step tuning.” When you tune this radio type, it clicks in 10 kHz steps (on AM). On better radios, this feels like tuning an older analog device. It is easy to blow past stations on more inferior designed radios unless you move across the dial very slowly. Some of these newer radios seem to have a problem with their AGC (automatic gain control), which can cause weak AM stations to pulse in and out. Some radios crackled when receiving powerful stations, suggesting that their front ends were overloading. Despite these negatives, most radios had very good FM reception and good enough AM reception. Every radio that I tested would serve their owner in an emergency. However, some radios were easier to use and worked better than others.
I was surprised that most popular consumer electronic manufacturers no longer sell portable radios in the US market. This market is now saturated by brands that I had never heard of. Based on this, I thought I would list my ranking of available radio brands. The list is from best to worst.
CC Radio/C Crane Radio
C Crane has been making high-quality radios for decades. They design their radios to be excellent performers, and because of this, they charge a premium price. If you are a radio lover, buy one of their long-distance CCRadios radios (prices ranging from $90-$200). However, lesser radios will also serve you in an emergency. C Crain does make a pretty good emergency style radio, the “Solar Observer,” which sells for a more reasonable $59.99.
Most common popular consumer brands no longer sell portable radios in the US market. However, Sangean, Sony, and Panasonic still do. You may not have heard of Sangean, but they have been selling high-quality radios in the US for decades-usually under different brands like Radio Shack, Proton, and C Crane. Sony sells a handful of radio models, and Panasonic sells two portable radio models in the US. Most of these brand name radios offer an excellent performance to cost ratio. They are well-built products that are refined. Tuning one of these radios feels more like turning a real analog radio (a good thing). They don’t overload or pulse on AM stations, and they have good selectivity and sensitivity on both FM and AM.
Kaito is a Chinese radio company. Some of their radios are as good as those made by Sony, Sangean, or Panasonic. Some of their radios are not as good. The Kaito KA500 is a good emergency radio that sells for around $49.00.
Many radios sold in the US have brand names that suggest that their primary market is elsewhere. Prunus, PowerBear, Vondior, Running Snail, Dream Sky, and Retekess are just a few brand names. I have tested some of these radios, and my general impression is that they are of lower quality than those listed above. However, all of the radios that I tested were still acceptable; most had very good FM reception and adequate AM reception. Some of these radios had overloading problems, while others had issues with AGC pulsing of weak AM signals. Also, some had other issues that ranged from crappy volume controls to finicky tuning. With that said, all of the radios that I tested worked well enough. However, if you choose one of these radios, I would buy it from a place where you can return it…just in case.
What features are essential, and what features are fluff?
FM is a must feature. FM stations are everywhere. There are over twice as many FM stations in the US than there are AM stations. People love FM because it has good sound fidelity, and it is less likely to suffer from thunderstorm static crashes and the buzzes and clicks that electronics, like computers, generate. FM (frequency modulation) stands for how the signal is broadcast, but the actual band used is part of the VHF (very high frequency) spectrum. These waves travel in a line-of-sight fashion, and the most powerful stations have a range of around 40 miles. Naturally, smaller stations have a shorter range. It is possible that all services could be interrupted in a wide area, and this could remove local FM stations from the airwaves. This is why having a radio that has AM reception is important.
AM is another must feature. Just like FM, AM (amplitude modulation) refers to how the signal is broadcast, but the actual frequency spectrum in use is called the medium wave band. This band has a unique characteristic as radio waves at these frequencies can travel by ground and follow the curvature of the earth. The strongest AM stations can be heard for up to 100 miles during the daytime. At night these stations can bounce off of the ionosphere and travel even further. I can easily listen to AM stations from New York, New Orleans, Denver, and Atlanta (to name a few) from my Chicagoland home during the night.
Also, many communities have TIS (Travelers Information Service) stations. You may be familiar with these low powered AM stations as they often broadcast information at places like National Parks and airports. However, they also can be used for emergency information. Their low power and simple operation make it likely that they will remain on the air during power failures and internet outages. Many communities have TIS transmitters that can provide localized information if commercial stations fail. My town has one of these stations at 1610 kHz, and the city next to me has a station at 1620 kHz.
In the early 1960s, the federal government established weather radio. This service is now governed by NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration). NOAA weather radio occupies a band located in the VHF spectrum above commercial FM radio. There are over 1000 NOAA stations in the US, which cover 95% of the population. Listening to NOAA can be trying as the transmissions are broadcast using a monotone computer voice. Schools, commercial radio stations, cell phone carriers, factories, and many more use NOAA’s alert function for severe weather warnings. In addition to time and weather, NOAA radio is authorized to provide any critical information in an actual emergency. NOAA information is relayed to commercial stations, so it is likely that you won’t be missing much if you don’t have this band.
This band is located between the commercial AM and FM bands. Shortwaves have unique properties as they can travel for many thousands of miles. When I was a kid, I would regularly listen to English language broadcasts from all over the world. However, many of these international stations have abandoned shortwave and now stream on the Internet. Most inexpensive radios that have the shortwave band are not very sophisticated in their reception of these frequencies. With that said, I recently listened to one of these radios (the Kaito KA500) on shortwave and found a few English stations (religious programmers) and a bunch of Spanish speaking stations. Other parts of the world, such as South America, Africa, and parts of Asia, still rely on shortwave radio stations. It is not necessary to have the shortwave band on a basic emergency radio in the US. Sophisticated shortwave radios can receive other types of communications, like single-sideband (SSB). Some may find this kind of reception useful. However, simple shortwave radios can’t decode SSB.
The dedicated emergency radio
Many manufacturers have created dedicated emergency radios. These radios have FM and AM reception, and some will have a weather band and/or shortwave band. The mid-priced versions of these devices are reasonable radio performers. However, you are paying extra for features that you may not use or need.
Many of these radios have a flashlight/reading light, but they are often weak. They will also have a rechargeable battery that you can charge in a variety of ways. You can charge the battery just like you would charge your cell phone, which may be desirable for those who don’t like tossing out batteries. However, these radios emphasize that they have solar panels and a cranking dynamo to charge the battery. In my opinion, those features are mostly gimmicks as the solar cells are very tiny, and you would have to crank the dynamo for a very long time to play the radio for more than a few minutes. Also, prolonged cranking would eventually destroy the radio’s dynamo, as it is just a cheap component.
As an experiment, I used the dynamo on the Kaito KA500 to charge my cell phone. I cranked vigorously for 1 minute. The phone went from a 30% charge to a 31% charge in that time… and my hand hurt. There is nothing wrong with owning an emergency radio, but a simple (and less expensive) standard radio is all that is needed in many cases. If you decide on an emergency radio, get one that can use both its rechargeable batteries and regular disposable ones. That will give you the greatest flexibility in an emergency.
If you want a dedicated emergency radio, the C Crane Solar Observer ($60) and the Kaito KA500 ($50) are nice radios.
Any battery-operated radio is better than no radio. However, I think a desktop-style radio is a better choice than a pocket radio. Unless you are a radio lover, pick one that is simple to operate. You don’t need to be figuring out keystrokes during an emergency.
I believe that the best value radios are those from Sony, Panasonic, and Sangean. They are reasonably priced, perform well, and their construction is good. I would not leave batteries in a radio unless you are regularly using a radio on battery power. Batteries leak and can render a radio useless. However, I would keep batteries close to the radio so you can load them at a moment’s notice. Remember that band name Alkaline batteries can remain viable for many years if kept in a cool and dry environment. Most radios that use AA batteries will play at moderate volume for about 50 hours, and those that use D batteries will play for about 150-200 hours. That is a lot of play time.
My number one recommendation is the Sony ICF-19. This radio performs well, sounds good, and costs less than $30. It runs on 3 D cell batteries and can play for 400 hours on FM and 450 hours on AM, an incredible energy-conserving feat. You can’t plug it into AC; it is battery only. I love its simple operation; anyone can figure out how to use it in seconds. It wasn’t the most feature-rich radio, or the cheapest, or the best performer. However, it does everything well, and its super-long battery life makes it my #1 choice.
If you don’t have $30 to spare, buy a pocket radio for $10-20 or a no-brand tabletop battery radio for $15-$25. They will also do the job, just not as elegantly.
I continuously see prepper channels on YouTube, where people have several years’ worth of food and other supplies. However, the most essential thing that you can have in an emergency is information. The most bulletproof and reliable mass communication method is a simple FM/AM battery-operated radio. Please don’t delay; get one today. It could save your life tomorrow.
Bonus Tip One
If you want the most economical option, you need to go with a pocket-sized radio. I tested many of them, and they all worked well enough to get you vital information in an emergency. Unless listed below, they all have reasonable FM performance, and they can receive local AM stations. Some of these radios use real analog circuits, others use a DSP (digital) chip but have an analog dial. Their sound quality and volume are what you would expect from a tiny speaker and a small plastic cabinet. Their build quality reflects their low price. These radios typically run on 2 AA type batteries.
I’m listing the price that I paid for these radios, but it seems that the price varies from moment to moment on these items.
Bonus Tip Two
I believe that the solar panels and dynamos on emergency style radios are mostly gimmicks. If you want unlimited power, you can buy an inexpensive 10-40-watt solar panel with a USB outlet. Use the panel to charge a battery bank, and then use that bank to charge a rechargeable radio, cell phone, or other 5-volt gadgets.
There are no emergencies for those who are prepared. A little planning may someday save your life and can reduce anxiety too!
When I build-out Violet the campervan, I wanted her to be as self-contained as possible. I also wanted her to be functional. However, a van has minimal space, and options, such as a real toilet, were out of the question. I envisioned my camping adventures beyond KOAs. To achieve this, I had to carefully think about what I needed and what I could live without.
This summer has offered new camping challenges for me due to the COVID 19 pandemic. I was able to “dry camp” in the Medicine Bow National Forest, and I also camped a few National Park campgrounds. As I write this post, I’m urban camping. A family member in my home had a potentially significant COVID exposure, so I’m spending the next 10 days vandwelling in the western suburbs. Being a senior citizen and male places me in a high-risk category. Getting sick with COVID is something that I want to avoid at all costs.
I’m fortunate that I have had several offers to park on other people’s properties. Some of them have included amenities such as the ability to plug into their mains power. I am incredibly appreciative of all of the kindness that I have received. Still, I want to be a good guest and not overstay my welcome or overuse other’s generosity. Because of this, I have tried to rely on living in my van as much as possible, which means that I have had to deal with limited resources. The process has highlighted how much I waste during my everyday life, and how I should be a better steward of my environment.
Violet, the campervan, was designed to be self-sufficient. On her roof are solar panels, and her electrical storage capacity is approximately 3.5 kilowatts. She can recharge my phone. She can also run a 12 volt Dometic fridge, house lights, an exhaust fan, a microwave oven, and even an induction hot plate burner.
I usually carry bottled water for drinking, but I also haul around 10 gallons of tap water. I have equipped her with a cell phone booster and a ham radio when I am camping in the boonies. I even can purify stream water, if needed.
Violet does not have have a traditional bathroom, although she does employ an emergency “bucket” system. However, bathrooms are usually plentiful, and I also have a small gardener’s spade for those times when I’m in the wilderness.
Violet has many abilities, but her resources are finite, and conservation is an absolute must. I face similar challenges when I’m camping in the wilderness and the city, but there are also significant differences. I thought I would share some of the ways I have been coping in my van while urban stealth camping.
The toilet issue
Let’s be honest, everyone wants to know how you go to the bathroom when you are living in a van. Naturally, it depends on where you are. Due to COVID safety, I can’t use the bathrooms of some friends and family members. There are indeed public bathrooms in the suburbs. Still, it can be very inconvenient to drive to a gas station or Walmart when nature calls. At this juncture, I am relying on two resources. One of my landing spots is also one of my friend, Tom’s construction sites, and this place has a Porta-Potty. One of my favorite daytime spots is a local forest preserve, which also has a Porta-Potty. I’m covered between these two places, but let’s face it, a Porta Potty is a Porta-Potty.
Violet is too small for a shower, and I’m a guy that likes to stay clean. I have been able to “score” a couple of real showers, but my daily hygiene routine has had to rely on more primitive methods. Everyone knows about baby wipes, and they do work in an emergency. However, I always feel like I’m smearing around as much dirt as I’m removing when I use them. A much better method is the “bucket bath,” which involves using a bucket (duh). I’ll leave a carboy of tap water out in the sun in an ideal situation until it is nice and warm. At other times I’ll heat a small amount of “mixing” water to accomplish the same task. It is surprising how little water you need to clean yourself, and I have found that I can do a complete “bath” in 1-2 liters of the stuff. My method is simple, put about a liter of water in a bucket and add a tiny amount of Dr. Bonner’s liquid soap. I then use a sponge to thoroughly wash, focusing on cleaner areas first. I then exchange my soapy water for some clean water and rinse using the same method. The bucket method requires a little gymnastic ability, but I feel as clean as when I shower. Showers have only been around for a short time, and humans have been cleaning themselves for thousands of years.
We live in a world powered by electricity. My phone and the iPad that I’m now typing on require 5 volts DC, my camper fridge and vent fan use 12 volts DC, and my microwave and induction burner use 120 volts AC. I use a Goal Zero Yeti 1250 with two additional AGM batteries for these needs. The Yeti recharges when I run my car or passively by solar panels. It is nice to have free electricity.
I currently have three hundred watts of solar panels on Violet’s roof, and I’ll be adding an additional 100 watts this fall. This may sound like a lot of power, but it still has to be carefully managed.
I’m stretching my limits by using solar-generated electricity for cooking. I do have a small butane stove. However, I think that it cool to use free electricity. My microwave and induction burner each use around 1 KW of power/hour, but I’m only using these devices for 5-15 minute in any given day.
When I’m living at home, I don’t think that much about electricity. I just assume that it will be available when I plug something in. I have become immune to my electric bills, which can run in the hundreds of dollars, but living in a van has given me a new perspective. The other day I was able to plug into a friend’s house electrical system. During that time, I made a grilled cheese sandwich on the induction burner, heated up some tomato soup in the microwave, and boiled some water for a “bucket bath.” I calculated the electricity cost that I used based on 10.7 cents per kilowatt/hour (the cost of power in their town). I used less than five cents of electricity. This gave me a new perspective on how much energy I am wasting every month at home.
You may have watched YouTube vandwellers make elaborate meals which they wash down with Vita-mix smoothies. They always seem to start their day with a cup of fresh cappuccino made with their $1000 espresso machine. That’s not me.
I think that my cooking style would be more comprehensive if I was always living on the road. However, I’m a temporary vandwellers. I am a guy who knows how to cook, and I don’t mind whipping up a meal for my family. However, when I’m in the van, I mostly don’t feel like cooking. Part of this is due to the van’s confined space, and part of it is that I’m just less interested in food. Granted, there are times when I’ll crave bacon and eggs or some good pancakes, and I’ll make an effort to cook these items. However, I’m usually more interested in quick and easy options. -Alright, I know you are thinking, “Mike, bacon, and eggs are quick and easy.” I agree with you when I’m at home, but not so much when I’m vandwelling.
The van has limited storage, and so each food purchase has to be carefully selected. I am always refining my grocery list, and it seems like I’m ever simplifying what I eat. I’m fond of scrambled eggs, microwaveable soup, grilled sandwiches, canned hash, and Belvita breakfast bars on this adventure. Since I’m “camping” in an urban setting, I’ll sometimes grab lunch from a restaurant.
I’m also in a “use it up” mode. When food shortages appeared during the pandemic, I made an effort to finish leftovers instead of eating what I had a taste for. This tendency has continued during my van experience. If I have leftovers, I eat them, and if I have groceries, I use them up before I buy more.
If you cook, you will have dishes to wash. The “art” of washing dishes in a van balances convenience with conservation. Conservation is a given, as the more dishes that I make, the more things that I have to wash. When you carry less than 10 gallons of water, it is not practical to wash dishes in the traditional soapy way. I have adopted a method that has been espoused by more experienced vandwellers, the vinegar method.
I scrape away anything that I can remove from a pan or dish and wipe it out with a paper towel. I then spay ordinary white vinegar on the object (as a grease cutter) and wipe that out with another paper towel. This method works surprisingly well and doesn’t use any water. I would use something other than paper towels in a perfect world, but this is not an ideal world. However, I am very conscious of the fact that I have limited towels on hand. So I’m pretty conservative in their use. For those who are wondering, The vinegar evaporates and doesn’t leave any aftertaste.
Creating garbage is a fact of life. In some ways, I’m probably creating a little more waste as I’m using more paper towels and some paper products. However, I’m very aware of the garbage that I am creating, and I genuinely try to limit it. It is imperative to toss your trash daily in a small space, which I do at my local forest preserve-in a dumpster, of course.
Urban vanlife severely limits my activities. I don’t have a house full of things to amuse me. COVID limits options even more. I have a radio, my phone, an iPad, a Kindle, and a Bluetooth speaker. That is enough electronics.
I typically spend some time with my friend, Tom, in the mornings, and then I drive to a place where I can “hang out” for the day. This is usually a local forest preserve where I write, walk, cook, and live. In some ways, vanlife is a healthy life as you want to get out of the van to do physical things.
The downside to urban camping
There is a certain unsettledness when you don’t have a permanent address. I have three sleeping spots that I had prearranged before this week of urban camping. I don’t want to draw attention to myself or overstay my welcome, so I tend to rotate from place to place. Each presents with its own challenges. One site is about 25 minutes away. Another shares its driveway with several other townhomes, and the third is an open church parking lot. I feel like I need to quietly move in and set myself up without drawing too much attention. Also, I must be stealthy during the night. Although I’m not doing anything wrong, there is a sense that I am, so my bedtimes have been a bit on the hyper-vigilant side.
Although I have found ways to cope, there is simply more stress in a situation where you are using chemical toilets, sleeping outdoors, and bathing using a bucket. Urban camping is definitely more stressful than regular camping. I imagine that I would eventually adjust to this lifestyle, but I’m not there yet.
The bottom line
Dear readers, if you have read some of my prior posts, you know that I’m all about learning from experiences. Like most experiences, I have learned from this one. One of the significant lessons that I have learned is that conservation is most effective when you have some skin in the game. I try to be respectful of my environment when I’m at home, but I still let my shower run too long, and I have a tendency to leave lights on. I have no problem running the AC, and I waste too much food.
The consequences of such behaviors are much more significant when you are living in a van. If I use too much power, I lose my refrigeration. If I waste food, I don’t have anything to eat. Cleaning myself involves energy and effort; I can’t heat gallons of water because I don’t have the electrical power to do so. Water itself is a scarce resource when living in a van. I have to make sure that I have it and think twice when I use it. I never waste water.
This urban camping experience has illustrated to me that one of the most effective ways to encourage people to live more green is to make it worth their while. My vanlife situation forces me to conserve not only because it is the right thing to do but because not doing so has a direct negative impact on my day to day existence.
I have watched countless videos about the joys of vanlife. Videos where people are perpetually happy and always experiencing a new adventure. These portrayals seem synthetic to me. I feel grateful that I have a roof over my head and food in my camper fridge. But urban vanlife is stressful. However, life is not about running away; it is about making the most of where you are.
The above realizations are not to say that I’m unhappy with Violet, the campervan. I remain ecstatic about her, and I’m entirely grateful that I have experienced our country while carrying my home.
I continue to think that life is about focusing on the positives. I believe that my cup is half-full, not half-empty.
Dear readers, let’s celebrate today and focus on the positives in our lives.
I always hated my basement. It was dark, damp, and dank, but I saw something in it that I wanted. There, on a dusty shelf was my prize. It was larger than a breadbox, but roughly the same shape. Made of wood, it had seen better days and its vernier finish was checked from past encounters with the sun. A large square speaker grill resided on its left side, the cloth cover stained. On the right was a rectangle dial, with two bands marked “Broadcast,” and “Shortwave.” Below the dial was a series of push buttons, and below the butters were four brown Bakelite knobs labeled volume, tone, band, and tuning. I was young, and it was heavy. I used my body as a brace as I pulled it off the shelf and onto the floor. It’s power cord wasn’t plastic, it was a braided cloth, and it looked broken and worn. I struggled with the radio’s bulk as I slowly dragged it to one of the few electric outlets that our basement possessed. My heart was racing as I plugged it in and turned on the power switch. In moments I was met with a buzzing sound, and the smell of hot dust and hot metal. I didn’t see smoke, so I pressed on. I turned up the volume control, which crackled with the sound a corroded potentiometer. I turned the dial knob, but its pointer didn’t move. The radio was broken. Yet, I was filled with the confidence of a grade schooler who did ‘t know better. I convinced myself that I could fix it. I could bring it back to life.
I carried it to my father’s workbench and placed it on the bench’s thick birch surface. My dad rarely used the space, and I was certain that I could work on my masterpiece without interruption. The back of the radio was protected by a thick piece of pressed cardboard, which was secured by several screws. I removed them and carefully pried the back off. The radio’s chassis was filled with giant components. Vacuum tubes were common in the early 1960s, but these radio tubes were huge. I turned the radio back on and observed each of its tubes’ filaments. They all were glowing. Fantastic! I thought.
After a lot of maneuvering I was able is dislodge the chassis from its cabinet. It had an odd, mildewy smell. The radio was from the 1930s, it could have been sitting the the basement waiting for me for the last 20 years. I made a quick assessment of the damage. The string that moved the tuning dial had disintegrated, and some sort of a pressure piece used to disengaged the buttons had rotted. The power cord looked like it was ready to short, and there was so much dust in the cabinet that the air gap tuning capacitor was malfunctioning. The cabinet’s finish was in terrible shape, and the cloth speakers grill was stained and rotting. I thought to myself, “I’ll find a way.” But, I had very little money, and no skill set. I made a list of what was broken and searched the house for makeshift repair pieces.
I found some dental floss that could replace the tuning cord mechanism, but I wasn’t sure how the prior cord had be wound. A rubber cork could be cut and shaped to approximate the disintegrated pressure piece, an extension cord could be used to replace the power cord, an old woven placemat could serve as a new speaker grill. I also found some sort of solvent that I thought could clean the tuning capacitor and the volume potentiometer, and some old stain that might help refinish the cabinet. That weekend I went to Rex’s Hardware store on 55th street with my allowance money and scored a small can of paint and varnish remover. I was ready to do battle.
The project started with many attempts to restring the tuning dial with dental floss. By some great luck, I figured it out. The pressure “thing” was next, then the power cord, and so on. I saved the cabinet refinishing for the last. I painted on varnish remover and scrapped it off with an old putty knife. I lightly sanded the big box and then carefully applied the stain. I’m guessing that the stain was old as it had an orange cast to it. However, I still felt that the radio looked significantly better than before. Lastly, I cut down the placemat and stapled it in place of the old speaker grill. After a quick reassembly, I was ready to test my project.
I plugged in the old radio and clicked the on switch. After a few seconds it started to hum. I set the band selector to “Broadcast,” and slowly turned the dial. WIND boomed in, and I was shocked how good the radio’s 6 inch speaker sounded. I tuned past WIND and found WMAQ, then WGN, then WBBM. The radio worked!
Later that night I thought I would try the band labeled “Shortwave” as it had a lot of exotic cities listed above the frequency indicator. Once again I started on the extreme left of the band and slowly tuned to the right. I can’t remember for sure what the first station that I heard was, but I believe that it was “Radio RSA, The Voice of South Africa.” Holy cow, it was in English! On that first night I heard many other stations broadcasting in English. The BBC, Radio Moscow, Radio Havana Cuba, The Voice of America, and HCJB from Quito Ecuador. I was listening to radio stations from thousands of miles away. I was connected to the world unfiltered. I felt like I just tapped into the most unbelievable resource.
Over time my hobby expanded and I started to build my own radios. I think the discovery of that radio changed my life, as I was able to get the perspective of dozens of other viewpoints from dozens of other nations.
This was the Cold War era, and I lived in constant fear that the Russians were going to attack the US and destroy our cities with nuclear bombs. One night I was listening to Joe Adamov on Radio Moscow. He said, “Americans are always saying that the Russians are going to nuke them, but the only country to every use a nuclear weapon on another country was the US.” I jolted myself back in my seat with the realization that he was right. There was more than one way to look at a situation. This eye opener impacted me then, and it still impacts me today. Radio educated me to think in broader terms, to question and not to assume. Yes, radio changed my life.
I was driving back from Wyoming with plans to visit some of the National Parks in South Dakota. My cell connection was too poor to stream anything, and I was getting bored listening to music on the FM band. I switch over to AM and did a quick station scan; 10 stations total. I restarted at the beginning of the dial and tuned into each, sampling their content. There was the usual fare, sports, some music, and talk. Six out the the 10 stations were playing the same syndicated show, a popular conservative radio host. I had not listened to this host in decades and decided to explore his content. He talked in a fast, urgent, somewhat high pitched tone. A tone that immediately agitated me. He didn’t have much content, but he kept warning that if the Democrats won the next election they would destroy the country. He used a lot of slurs when talking about them giving each Democrat a derogatory nickname. He was especially concerned about Joe Biden who he condemned at one moment as being weak and senile and at another moment maniacal, and power hungry. I listened for about 30 minutes before I had to turn the radio off. I was feeling as if I was going to have a panic attack. When I returned home I tuned into some of the conservative programs on Chicago radio stations. Although the hosts were different, the presentations were the same. I heard many themes that sounded ridiculous when the president voiced them, and here they were being repeated. The hosts didn’t talk about COVID, they talked about the China virus. They stated emphatically that Biden wanted to defund the police, and destroy the suburbs. Two statements that are outright lies. They suggested that we were in danger of losing our freedom and that the Democrats wanted us all to become socialists. They seemed to draw the conclusion that socialism was the the same thing as Communism. Each time that I listened I found myself become agitated.
I’m neither a Democrats nor a Republican. I think both parties are corrupt. However, I am a person that believes in science, and that all races were created equal. I don’t feel that I have the right to determine what other consenting adults do in the privacy of their bedrooms, and I feel that as an advanced society we should have universal healthcare.
I’m a Christian who believes that the message of the New Testament is one of love, acceptance, forgiveness, kindness, and inclusion. I don’t base my faith on the crude analysis of a single verse.
I’m more comfortable with the commentators of CNN and MSNBC rather than Fox News. However, I think that all of these channels are all equally destructive. Trump gives progressive stations an endless stream of discussion points, so you hear less outright lies. However, you do hear a biased opinion, and one that is intended (in my opinion) to manipulate the audience. The commentators of all of these channels present as newscasters instead of entertainers, but they are not balanced in their presentations and so the term entertainer seems more appropriate. There is an endless stream of “breaking news” stories that don’t seem particularly “breaking.” There are endless rehashes that can have up to 6 “experts” all agreeing with the host. The same sound bite is often repeated over and over again. The next commentator in the lineup does the same thing, but with their slightly different twist. If you are listening to a conservative channel you are told that the Democrats are going to destroy the country, and if you are listening on a progressive channel the Republicans will do the same. There is no balance, just a urgency that keeps you watching as the same stories are repeated over and over. When I view any of these channels I find myself becoming more agitated and upset. I don’t feel more informed, as most of the real information could be easily told in a 5 minute newscast. I feel mad and outraged, and it is hard to disengage.
In 1949 the Federal Communication Commission (FCC) introduced the Fairness Doctrine which required broadcasters to present controversial issues to the public in an honest, equitable, and balanced way. This required media outlets to present both sides of an issue. In 1985 FCC Chairman Mark Fowler, who was an attorney who served on Ronald Reagan’s campaign staff, released a report that stated that the Fairness Doctrine violated free speech, and in 1987 the FCC abolished the doctrine by a 4 to 0 vote. The removal of the Fairness Doctrine allowed stations to present their own viewpoints without having to present balanced news. The establishment of cable channels solely devoted to news also encouraged biased news reporting, as well as the endless parade of editorial comments masquerading as news. These networks were profit centers, and made their money with ad revenue. The longer someone watched a station the bigger their profits. Such a scenario is a recipe for drama, and an overdriven, “If it bleeds it leads” focus.
The secret to gaining a larger audience is getting them to emotionally invest in both the host and story. To do this most stories have to be padded with dramatic “opinions” from the commentator and “experts” who build on the anxiety of the viewer. The viewer is placed in a position where they are afraid to turn to a different channel, as they may miss some “breaking news.” As they become ever more agitated they become evermore outraged. The viewer “shares the tragedy” with the host which leads to trust in the host. This level of engagement can lead to a habitual pattern of watching; perfect for the network. The viewer is both disempowered and empowered at the same time. Their anger can be intoxicating in its own right. The exploitation of the news in such a way constitutes outrage porn, and the traumatic repetition of biased stores can lead to a pattern of behavior where the viewer is anxious, angry, and afraid much of the time. These same tactics can be seen in other media areas, such as YouTube channels. Since YouTube selects content based on previous views it is easy to exclusively see opinions that echo and amplify a particular biased belief.
I can think of no real benefit from watching a steady stream of cable news channels or biased YouTube channels. At the best, such viewing is upsetting to the individual. However, I believe that it also has an impact on the overall partisanship of our country. If all you see are conservative (or conversely, progressive) commentators your view of anyone who has an opposing opinion will suffer. Many of the commentators are “passionate” in their feelings which further impacts how people react to differing opinions. We no longer disagree, we attack, just like the attacks that we see on the “news.” The end result is a fractured population that can be easily manipulated by others, including politicians. When this happens democracy itself is at risk.
Are you watching/listening to news/talk channels for hours every day? Do you find yourself becoming overly emotionally invested in news events? Do you become angry if someone has a different political opinion than yours? Does your news outlet always favor one political party over the other? Do you find that you are afraid, angry, or upset after watching the news? If you answer “yes” to several of these questions you may be suffering of Outrage Porn Addiction (my term). So, how do you free yourself from this addiction?
Since we no longer have checks and balances due to the repeal of the Fairness Doctrine you need to protect yourself by adding your own checks and balances. I would limit cable news consumption to no more than one hour a day, preferably split into two segments. Personally, I go one step further and use my smart speaker to keep me abreast of what is happening. I program it to play NPR news (progressive), USA Today news, and Fox News (conservative) in the morning when I get up. These actual newscasts are only a few minutes long and tend to be more balanced. I also read selected news stories from various outlets while I’m having my breakfast. That constitutes my daily dose of news. The best way to avoid Outrage Porn Addiction is to remove the offending agent. If the above doesn’t work you can try neutral news sources like the BBC or Radio Canada. Both are available by internet streams. They always have some US news included.
Outrage Porn Addiction is like any other addiction. It initially feels good, and then it makes you progressively sicker. Don’t let yourself be manipulated by others. Get a balanced perspective, and get on with your life.
Some ask for permission, and some beg for forgiveness. I’m in the former category.
Some prefer the excitement of the unknown, and there are those who find comfort in planning. I am in the latter category.
We don’t live in a perfect world, and there is no such thing as an ideal person. With that said, most of us are happy in relationships driven by cooperation rather than conflict.
I have this “thing” when I travel, I like to have a reasonable amount of gas in my car. This is especially true when I’m traveling out west, where gas stations are few and far between. My worry kicks in at a quarter of a tank of fuel and builds until I find a gas station. At around an eighth of a tank, I can feel my heart race, and as the indicator needle drops further, I start to panic.
In July, my friend Tom told me that he planned on traveling out west with his son for a vacation. Tom was working on several big projects, but the summer was drawing to a close, and he wanted to give his boy an adventure. “The hiking paths at Glacier are closed, and so I was thinking about camping in Wyoming and western Colorado. Do you want to come along?” He asked. “Yes, absolutely,” I replied. Violet, my campervan, had been sitting idle all summer due to the pandemic. I was more than happy to get back into her driver’s seat.
I tried to pin Tom down for some details, but he shrugged me off. Remember my “planner” comment from above? Tom tends to be in the “more spontaneous” camp. Eventually, he let me know that he was planning on going the first week of August.
As the departure date approached, I pressed for more information, but it seemed to aggravate him. I knew that Tom was stressed, but I still needed the necessary data. “When are we leaving?” I asked. “I think around 4 AM. We can meet on the road.” He replied.
We live minutes from each other, so the “meet on the road” comment was confusing. I started to get Violet ready for the journey. I made a trip to Walmart to buy camp food. I packed a duffle bag full of clothes. The day before we were scheduled to leave, I texted him and asked him where we were going to meet. “On the road,” he replied. “Are you serious?” I responded. “What’s the big deal?” was his comeback.
I was about to drive 1000 miles with no other information than a destination. My mind started to move into high gear. Had I somehow coerced Tom into inviting me to go on this trip? No, I didn’t. Was he upset with me for some reason? I see Tom most days, and we get along well. It was clear that he didn’t want to drive in tandem with me, but it was unclear why.
My behavior in such a situation is very predictable and dates back to my childhood. My reaction is a multi-step process, most of which happens very quickly. First, I feel very hurt. Then I wonder if I did something wrong. If I did do something wrong, I try to correct it. If I didn’t do anything wrong, I move on to the next stage, anger. I’m not a very angry person, so this stage rapidly transitions to the final stage… I call that stage, “Kuna pride.”
When I was a young child, I would try to engage my dad. For instance, when I was in fourth grade, I found an old radio in the alley. I brought it to my dad and asked him if he would help me remove the radio’s speaker, so I could use it in another project. I recall him sitting in an upholstered rocker that we had in our living room. “Dad, could you help me get this speaker. I want to use it for something else, but I don’t know how to remove it from the chassis.” He seemed to hover 10 feet above me. He moved the edge of the “Sun-Times” that he was reading and looked down at me. “It’s impossible to remove those speakers,” he said and went back to reading the paper. I knew that it was possible to remove the speaker because I had already figured out how to do it. I was asking him for help because I wanted to spend time with him. I wanted him to value me, and I wanted him to be proud of me.
I felt hurt, then I blamed myself for not being a good enough son, then I got angry, and then I moved into Kuna pride. I took the old radio down into the basement and pulled the speaker. I brought it back upstairs and showed him that I had solved the problem without his help. I knew at that point that he would be more annoyed with me than proud. I wanted him to see that I didn’t need him. That I didn’t need anyone. I wanted him to know that if he didn’t believe in me, then I would believe in myself. I would not let him or anyone determine if I was good enough. I would figure out life on my own. I would find my own path. That, dear reader, is Kuna pride.
I know that it is considered wrong to be proud, but I felt that I had little choice. If my own father didn’t want to spend 15 minutes with me, who would? I could become the reject that I assumed that he thought I was, or I could adopt the idea that I wasn’t a reject, I was just different. Different is neither good nor bad. Being different would allow me to form my own thoughts. I didn’t need to sacrifice who I was on the fickle altar of popularity.
I could cite other examples of Kuna pride in my life, but you get the idea. In some ways, Kuna pride has made me a stronger and more independent person. I can think on my feet, and I don’t need a lot of external validation to do those things that I feel are correct. Naturally, there is also a downside to such a trait; I’ll let you ponder that.
When it was clear that Tom didn’t want to travel with me, I moved through my “stages.” “I don’t need anyone to travel. I can do it on my own. I’m not going to let anyone determine who I am. If he doesn’t want to spend time with me, so be it. I will make this trip my own adventure” Kuna pride was now in command.
I turned on the Violet’s 12-volt Dometic fridge and stocked it with perishables. I loaded her pantry with dry goods. I filled a snack bag with some fruit and salty treats and placed it on the console next to the driver’s seat. I shoved my duffle bag in a storage compartment under the bed. I filled my thermos with coffee, my Hydro Flask with ice water, and placed both in the center console cupholders. I punched in Curt Gowdy State Park, Wyoming on my iPhone’s GPS, started Violet’s engine, and backed out of the driveway.
With Kuna pride, there is always some residual hurt and anger. Still, I quickly buried those feelings as I was not about to allow anyone to take anything more away from me. I was going to make the most of the drive.
I filled the driving hours thinking about random things, listening to podcasts and music, and making phone calls. As I approached Omaha, I realized that my phone wasn’t charging. I had just replaced the charging cord, and jiggling the connection confirmed the fear that my iPhones lightning port was defective. I moved into problem-solving mode and started to search for a T-mobile or Best Buy store in Omaha. Just then, I got a text message from Tom. “Where are you?” I replied that I was approaching Omaha, and I had to make a stop there. “We are about 25 minutes ahead of you and are stopping in Omaha, too,” came his text. I replied, “OK.” I was not about to ask him if he wanted to meet up in Omaha. One of the aspects of Kuna pride is that once I’m hurt, I establish a 20-foot high emotional barrier to prevent being hurt again. I spied a Love’s Travel Stop and pulled in. I filled up on gas and found an overpriced wireless charger for my phone and continued my journey.
More text messages from Tom started to come in, and he was acting normal. I told you that I’m not a person who stays angry, and this is especially true when it comes to people that I care about. My barrier wall was intact, but it was crumbling a bit.
I continued to drive with an eye on the fuel gauge and made sure that I found a gas station when the tank was at the quarter level. On past trips with Tom, my need to fill up has been a stress point between us. He likes to drive as far as possible on a single tank of gas; I have had to bring him a jerry can when he has run out of fuel in the past. Now I could stop for gas as frequently as needed. There was a relief in this.
The further west that I traveled, the worse my T-mobile signal fared. I dug around and found my prepaid Verizon hotspot. I had added a month of service to it just before my departure as a safety net. As I said before, I am a planner.
With the hotspot connected to the Verizon network and my T-mobile iPhone connected to the hotspot, I was able to regain some connection. However, I was still getting a lot of dropouts. The communications with Tom continued via Facetime and voice calls. Tom asked me why I had ignored his calls before the text that I responded to near Omaha. Apparently, my iPhone was malfunctioning on many levels. I made a note to myself to buy an iPhone 12 in the fall.
As we got closer to the exit for Curt Gowdy, Tom told me not to follow the directions from my GPS. “There is a better exit, I don’t remember what number it is, but I’ll recognize it when I see it. I’ll let you know what it is once I find it.” I told him, “OK.” He eventually relayed the exit information to me, and I started to scan the Interstate for the sign. To make the situation more confusing, I had to drive through what seemed like a million road construction cones. Suddenly, my Verizon hotspot disconnected from my phone. I reached down to power it up, and at that exact time, I drove past the exit. A wave of panic rushed over me. I was in the middle of nowhere, and I had no idea if the next exit was 1 mile or 100 miles away. I had been driving 14 hours, I was exhausted, and now I was sick to my stomach.
Luckily, Laramie’s exit was only about 10 miles west, and I pulled off the Interstate. By then, Tom informed me that all of the campsites at Curt Gowdy were filled, and he was leaving the park. “Stay at the visitor’s center,” I texted. “I’ll find you there.” I pulled into a small church parking lot and tried to figure out where I was. Tom called and told me to meet him at the intersection of Happy Jack road and the Interstate. He might have told me to meet him on the second moon of Jupiter, as I would have had an equally good chance of figuring out how to get there. “Wait, wait, wait! Let’s meet at the visitor’s center. I can put that into the GPS,” I said. Tom continued to push for the Happy Jack destination, and then it came out of my mouth. You can imagine the types of words that emanated from my piehole; however, it would be impossible to convey the level of anger and rage that accompanied them. I had had it.
I was driving again and directly in front of me was the entrance to the Interstate. How the heck did I find it? I pulled onto the expressway and drove east. Suddenly, the GPS announced, “Next exit Happy Jack road.” I didn’t remember programming the GPS, but that was the exit that Tom wanted me to meet him. We connected and started looking for a place to camp. We drove into the Medicine Bow National Forest and found a campground, but it was full. We drove to another, and it was also full. We found a forest service road and drove in. We came upon a family and asked if they knew if camping was allowed along the service road. The husband said that there was dispersed camping, but we would have to drive down a bit. We pressed forward and found a clearing about a mile and a half up the dirt road.
I parked Violet and tried to settle down. I was absolutely exhausted, stressed, and shaking. At the same time, I was relieved that we had found a place to camp, and I was happy to see Tom and his son. They came over, and we started to chat. The first thing that Tom commented on was how surprised he was at my expletives. I acknowledge his statement noting that I was exhausted and frustrated. At that point, Tom’s son asked me in earnest if I really did have all of my breakfast meals planned out in advance. It was clear that they had had a discussion in the car concerning my behaviors. I don’t believe that the discussion was complementary in nature. I decided to take the high road. “People are different. Some are planners, some are more spontaneous. Neither position is right or wrong…” At that point, Tom butted in laughing, “It was such a relief not having you follow us. What a pain in the ass.” My kindness button switched off. I was furious again. However, I knew that it would be foolish to respond to him in my depleted state. I was in no position to accurately judge anything.
The evening ended, and I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep despite my exhaustion. Why was I here? Why did I go on this vacation? The questions tumbled through my mind. I decided that I would talk to Tom the next morning and tell him about my feelings. I would also say to him that I would be returning home the following day. It made no sense to drive 1000 miles and then return home without doing anything, and I wanted to hike the park, but I couldn’t see spending the next week with Tom.
The next morning Tom had noticed that I was acting more sullen and tried to use humor to lighten me up. I told him that I needed to talk to him without his son present. Having a serious conversation with Tom is possible. Still, it is not conducted in a typical fashion, as he has a tendency to interrupt.
I told him about my frustration and my plan to leave the following day. It was clear that Tom didn’t want this, and that his comment from the night before was meant to be humorous. However, there was a grain of truth in his barb. He told me that he was feeling a lot of stress and wanted to drive away his tension. He noted that it had been difficult for him to have me follow on past trips due to our different driving styles. He implied that he didn’t want that additional stress on this trip. I admitted to him that it was also stressful for me to follow him. Driving tandem was stressful for both of us, but for opposite reasons. He noted that he was only 30-40 miles ahead of me during the entire trip and that he would have come back to get me if anything had gone wrong. He said many other things, but the gist of the conversation was that no ill will was intended by him. He had asked me on the trip because he wanted me to come and not out of a sense of obligation.
On my part, I was aware that I was reading his behavior through the veil of my past experiences. With the acknowledgment of our mutual stress, my anger faded, and we were just Mike and Tom on another one of our adventures. I could feel the relief from both of us as we acknowledged how external stresses and differences in our personalities were the root causes of the friction between us.
That later fact deserves further comment. I tend to be a planner who wants all of the boxes checked before I engage in something new. Tom finds excitement in the unknown; he enjoys flying by the seat of his pants. In ordinary life, we complement each other. I have made Tom more organized, and he has made me more spontaneous. However, driving 1000 miles in a single day is not part of normal life. Tom said he was sorry if he upset me. We were both happy to move forward. There is a reason that we are best friends. We are imperfect, but neither of us is cruel. We not only like each other, but we also look out for each other.
The trip continued under the best of terms. Will I travel again with Tom? The answer is, yes. How will we travel to our next destination? Well, that is yet to be determined.
I wrote this post for several reasons, but mostly to stimulate you, dear readers, to think about points of conflict that you have had in your relational life. Our past impacts our present. It is easy to misinterpret a person’s actions and motivations. We are all different, and one person’s goal in a situation may differ from another person’s. Textbook communication and conflict resolution protocols are great when you can do them. Still, when you can’t, it is OK to imperfectly resolve a problem. The most important characteristics when moving forward are sincerity, empathy, and honesty. With these traits, a solution is possible. If you are in a relationship that is phony instead of sincere, or one where the parties can only relate to their own needs, or one that is dishonest instead of honest, then no actual resolution can ever be achieved. If these negative characteristics are present, then it may be best to move on or accept that you will be stressed continuously in a repeating pattern of disharmony.
There is more to this vacation story, but I’ll save that for another day.
I have celebrated Easter Sunday in the same way for decades. The morning starts with a candy hunt by the kids, followed by a light brunch. We then attend a late morning church service. I rush home from church to make my “signature” cheesy chivy potatoes, which is my contribution to our family’s Easter party. We then pile into our car and drive off to my sister’s house in a nearby suburb. Along the way, I pick up flowers for my two godchildren.
For Easter, my sister and brother-in-law supply their house and a lot of the food. However, most of us are assigned a dish-to-pass. We typically are given the same dish to make year after year, which is how cheesy chivy potatoes became my signature dish. You may think that the recipe sounds disgusting, but many family members have told me that they look forward to it every Easter. Chessy Chivy Potatoes are not haute cuisine.
Mike’s Recipe for Cheesy Chivy Potatoes
Make a whole bunch of mashed potatoes.
Stir in a lot of cheese. This can be any combination of meltable cheeses. Over the years, I have used sharp cheddar, American slices, and even Velveta.
Add chives to taste. I’ll sometimes saute fresh chives, but I have also used the dried bottled stuff. They both taste the same.
I bring a large pan of the potatoes, and I’ll often leave the party with an empty scrapped casserole dish. Our Easter meal is Midwestern… ham, potatoes, jello molds, rolls/butter, sweet potatoes, Easter lamb pound cake… you get the picture. We do have a few vegetarians in our group, so there are also some vegetarian-friendly foods added to the menu.
My sister’s Easter party is always a highlight for me. Everyone is eager to mingle and chat, the weather is typically beautiful enough for a walk, and the food is comforting. By 8 PM, I’m ready to head home. Easter Sunday concludes quietly, often by watching one of those classic Easter movies. However, all that changed with the COVID-19 pandemic, as many weeks ago, my sister canceled the event due to the virus.
As a family, we decided to do something for Easter, but we weren’t sure what that “something” would be. Our plans slowly formed as the day approached.
Julie made a brunch style egg dish, the kind where you mix bread, eggs, ham, and cheese and let the combination sit overnight in the fridge. It puffs up into a delicious souffle style casserole when you bake it the next day. Also, she proved some Rhodes cinnamon rolls. These start as frozen pucks that you place in a 9 x 13 pan overnight. By morning they are doubled in size and ready for the oven. There is nothing like the smell of baking cinnamony bread to wake you up in the morning. Add some strong hot coffee for a perfect start to the holiday.
We didn’t buy any Easter candy; I didn’t think that this was a big deal as our kids are adults. I was wrong. This was rectified by Grace and Kathryn, who took a quick trip to Walgreen’s candy aisle the day before.
Later Sunday morning, we went to church…online. Our church had started a streaming ministry to lock-ins, and so they were ready to broadcast when Illinois’ shelter-in-place order came through. I cued up the stream on a Macbook and “Cast” it to our family room TV. The overall production quality was excellent, and they wove in video clips and remote music into the sermon. At communion time, we ate Ritz crackers and had a small sip of box wine. Watching church on a TV is not as engaging as participating in person, but the overall impact made it a worthwhile experience.
Our early afternoon was carved out for connecting with others. At 2 PM, we all huddled around a computer and logged into a Zoom call to Julie’s family. The group represented members from 4 states and one foreign country. Her family follows rules well; everyone waited to talk, and the conversation rolled along smoothly.
At 3 PM, I connected to my side’s Zoom call. Kunas are very exuberant, and most have little experience with conference calls. The resulting connection consisted of conversational chaos. It was fantastic to see everyone, but after about 10 minutes I decided that it was time to leave the meeting. Lastly, I was able to connect with my oldest daughter, Anne, via FaceTime. By 4 PM, I had touched base with more people then I would have if I had followed my usual Easter routine. This surprised me.
For dinner, Julie made some chicken legs that I bought during a pandemic grocery trip along with some stuffed shells and fresh asparagus. This was not our traditional Easter dinner, but delicious and celebratory none-the-less.
After dinner, I discover new neighborhoods on a walk with my daughter Grace. Our evening ended with a family viewing of episode 8 of “The Tiger King.” We, too, have succumbed to this national phenomenon. I have to say that episode 8 seemed more like click-bait than a real episode, but it still managed to occupy 60 minutes of our evening.
There you have it, our Easter during the pandemic. We didn’t go to church or have traditional Easter baskets. I didn’t make cheesy chivy potatoes or go to my sister’s house for a party. However, we managed to incorporate all of the essential elements of our typical Easter into last Sunday. We ate special food, and the kids had their fill of hollow chocolate bunnies and Cadbury eggs. We attentively attended an online church service. We caught up with loved ones, and we did family-centered activities. We didn’t give up Easter; we just modified it. It was a good day.
We may need to change other behaviors during (and after) this crisis time, but that doesn’t mean that we need to give up on life or traditions.
I’m sure that there are activities or connections that you are missing since you have had to socially isolate. I would ask you to distill the essence of what you are losing into its characteristic elements. Be creative and see how you can reproduce those elements differently so you can transform your situation from one of loss to one of discovery.
Despite all of my efforts, I can still be a victim of my own imposed limitations. My personal flaws bother me.
I have been reasonably busy during my retirement year, and have grown in a variety of ways. I have been fortunate to use my photography skills to do work for others, and I wholly enjoy the challenges that those opportunities have presented. Every time I create something for someone else, my photography grows a little more. However, I am bounded by the expectations of the client. The constraints of the job limit my creative vision. There is another area of photography that I am drawn to. It is an area that has little commercial value.
I walk early in the morning, and sometimes I’ll spy lights on in houses that I pass. I always wonder, “Who is up in that house? What are they doing? What are they having for breakfast? Are they getting ready for work or school? What kind of work do they do?” The questions continue in my mind. I ask myself similar questions when I drive through small towns and villages. In each, lives are moving forward, some successful, others less so.
In the Midwest, many small and medium-sized communities are failing. Factories are abandoned; residents have moved to larger cities. Stores in the downtown areas are frequently closed or occupied by resale shops and bars. Houses are often in need of repair. These realities are especially evident in places ignored by interstate highways. Once vibrant communities slowly die, a process fueled by decreased populations and reduced city revenues. Each house, storefront, and building tells a story, and every one of them is fascinating to me.
There are other discoveries to be made on rural roads. Great barns, some shiny, others in ruin. Majestic parks, historical markers, and hidden vistas dot the landscape. All you need to do is to pause and look. Sadly, few do.
There is a little boy inside of me who is full of wonderment. I have been fortunate to have a few people in my life who share similar excitement when discovering those things that most others would pass on. These individuals have an inner child in them, and I am so very grateful that we have found each other.
However, I know of no one who has both the “wonderment quotient” as well as a love of photography. No one would find it interesting to go on a photo-taking adventure with me. Years ago, I joined a photography MeetUp group. However, the group expanded so rapidly that it ignited my shyness, and I stopped going. I much prefer more intimate experiences.
Who is stopping me? Me!
I want to visit small towns. I want to explore the countryside. I want to photograph images as I see them. Why have I been ignoring this need?
I am aware of how fear impacts my ability to do new things. I tend to overthink, and this can lead to “what if” scenarios, which can be immobilizing. However, I refuse to let fear stand in my way of doing anything rational. I will push past it.
Guilt also plays a factor. I have to admit that I feel guilty that I have so much free time. I feel guilty that I can do an activity on days when my wife works. Going on a day trip requires a level of self-indulgence.
Who is stopping me? Me!
I scanned a road map and determined that there were several towns on Route 64 that looked interesting. I could drive to them and back in a single day. I mentioned my plan to Julie, and she was OK with it.
I traveled last week, and I wholly enjoyed my explorations. Here are some of the photos that I took:
A few of the many doorways that I photographed. They all could tell a story.
A huge grain elevator in the middle of nowhere.
Old houses in need of some TLC.
An abandoned college campus.
A magnificent county courthouse.
Mississippi Palisades State Park.
I faced my fear and guilt and accomplished my goal. However, the experience wasn’t perfect. I was once again aware of the loneliness that I felt. A feeling that I wanted to share my experience with someone. “Look at that cool building!” “What do you think of that view?” “Would you shoot that barn from this angle or that angle?” A travel companion would have been icing on my exploration cake.
I am planning more photo day trips, and I’m also considering pushing my comfort zone further. I’m thinking about reaching out to strangers to see if there is someone who would like to go with me on a photoshoot day trip. I can’t be the only retired guy with both an interest and a camera. An additional bonus would be the sharing of travel expenses. However, the exact same barriers are preventing me from moving on to this new idea.
What if I’m not compatible with a new travel buddy? What if they don’t like me? What if they are an ax murderer? -OK, that latter point may be a stretch. I understand that if I experience a terrible match, it is only one day of my life. Indeed, a reasonable risk.
The second barrier is more significant for me. I am an intense person who forms emotional relationships. If you can deal with me, you will be rewarded with a true friend who will stand by you no matter what. I value a few strong relationships over dozens of weaker ones. I like relationships where I can be myself and not fear that I’m “too intense” for the other person to handle. These kinds of connections require a lot of work, effort, and time from both sides. If I developed a strong relationship with a new photo buddy, I would feel guilty that I was taking time away from my established connections. This may seem illogical to you, but it is an honest concern for me. Two good friends are not the equivalent of one best friend.
It is interesting that common themes stand as barriers from me to being completely true to my needs. Fear does play into my decisions, but I’m used to pushing past that feeling. However, guilt plays a more important function. Guilt that I’m having fun when someone else is not. Guilt that I’m being disloyal to those who I care for. Guilt that I don’t deserve to have as much success as I’m having. I can surmise why I have these feelings, but that doesn’t eliminate them. However, I believe that I can work through them on a case-by-case basis. It will be an interesting growth journey.
I can’t say if I’m going to try the photo buddy route, but I can say that I will absolutely go on another photoshoot day trip. There is so much to see, and with each discovery, I feel that I grow. I have never wanted to be determined by someone other than me. With that said, I don’t want to be determined by my self-imposed limitations. I want to base my life on what I can do, not what I can’t do.
“Do you want to go to Houston in January?” Julie said. “I guess, but why Houston?” I replied. Apparently, Spirit Airlines had a cheap fare to Houston, and Julie felt that it would be warmer than Chicago.
I had forgotten about the trip, and then it was suddenly upon me. We needed to leave the house by 3:30 AM on a Thursday and at 9 PM the night before I was frantically packing. Over the years, I have learned to pack both lighter and more efficiently. I keep a Dopp Kit ready to go, so all I had to do was to transfer the liquid items into a quart ziplock bag for TSA. Also, I packed a hoodie, some shirts, an extra pair of pants, my sleep ware, and of course, socks and underwear.
I have a camera case in the style of a backpack, which is my under-the-seat carry-on. Since I use the bag when I’m not flying, I made sure to dump out all of the pouches and pockets. Thankfully, there were no banned items. Into my backpack went a fully charged iPad, a minimal first-aid kit, sunglasses, lip balm, a battery bank with adapter cords, and a few packaged snacks for the flight. The front pouch of the backpack is padded for cameras. In it, I placed my small Olympus OMD EM10 camera with its kit lens, an extra camera battery, a 20 mm F 1.8 lens, and a few other camera accessories. I’m an avid photographer, but I don’t want to haul a lot of extra camera gear.
I usually wake up early, but that is not the case for Julie. Yet, she was a good sport, and we were soon on our way to OHare International Airport. Our gate seemed to be in a different state, but that is what you expect when you are flying on a budget airline. Soon we were boarded and waiting to take off. Surprisingly, the budget carrier’s customer service was pretty good. However, my legroom was terrible, and within about 30 minutes, I started to have leg cramps. I focused on the fact that the flight was only 2 hours; it was a long two hours.
One place that we wanted to visit was the Johnson Space Center/Space Center of Houston, and after a light brunch, we drove through the gates, paid our admission fees, and started our tour. We were approached by a tall black man wearing a polo shirt emblazoned with the center’s logo. “Can I help you?” He asked. And with that, he gave us a detailed overview of what to see not only at the museum but also at the adjacent Johnson Space Center. He strongly suggested that we board the two shuttle tours as both of them would take us around the Johnson Space Center’s campus. One of the tours would allow us entry into the actual command center where the Apollo space missions were directed.
I was flooded with childhood memories. I grew up during the 1960s, and the space race dominated my thoughts during those years. That decade was a time of great American pride. There was a feeling that we could accomplish anything, figure out anything, do anything. I watched every single space launch and always held my breath when the giant rockets rose slowly and somewhat crookedly as they traveled up and beyond the earth’s atmosphere.
The 60s were a time when Americans feared that the USSR was going to invade our country and make us slaves to communism. Russia not only had launched Sputnik, the first satellite, it had also placed the first person in space. There was an honest concern that the US would be left behind.
However, on May 5, 1961, Alan Sheppard was strapped into a tiny Mercury capsule atop a Redstone rocket. He was sent on a 15-minute sub-orbital flight. The Russians had already placed Yuri Gagarin into a real earth orbit one month earlier, but there was a sense that we were still in the game. However, it wasn’t until February of 1962 that we successfully sent John Glenn into Earth orbit on top of an Atlas rocket.
As a kid, it seemed that each new flight offered a spectacular new accomplishment, and in 1965 NASA launched the first human-crewed Gemini capsule, which held two astronauts. Where the Mercury capsules were controlled on the ground, the Gemini capsules were piloted by the crew. The Gemini flights captivated me, and during these missions, astronauts walked in space, docked with other spacecraft, and did many other firsts (for the US) in preparation for an eventual lunar landing.
In 1967 tragedy struck the US when three astronauts were killed aboard Apollo 1. Its pure oxygen-containing cabin suffered a flash fire. Suddenly, my hubris shattered.
In future missions, NASA changed the atmosphere from pure oxygen to a less combustible atmosphere mix, and the number of flammable materials in the cabin were reduced. In October of 1968, Apollo 7 launched with a crew of three, and the country was once again moving towards its goal of landing a human on the moon. Which, of course, happened in July of 1969 with the flight of Apollo 11.
When the first crewed Mercury mission launched, I was eight, and when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon, I was 16. Only eight years and so much had happened. In1969 I had a summer job that started early. However, I made sure that I stayed up to see the fuzzy black and white TV image of Mr. Armstrong as his foot touched the moon’s powdery surface. How fortunate I was to witness one of the most momentous events in history!
The impact of the space program went well beyond a lunar landing. It was an inspirational program during an inspirational time. I had already been fascinated by the sci-fi B-movies. I had found a “mentor” in Don Herbert, the host of “Mr. Wizard,” which was a TV show that encouraged kids to do scientific experiments. However, the space program took me from fantasy and the ordinary to the extraordinary. Everything about it was real, yet it seemed unreal. NASA had the coolest on-board computer, the most fantastic space food, and a mission control center that seemed right out of the future. It inspired me to think beyond myself and to believe that I, too, could do anything. I was an American, living during the most fantastic time in history. I thought that the only thing that could stop me was me.
We boarded the shuttle and made the short trip from the Space Center of Houston to the adjacent Johnson Space Center. The tour guide telegraphed some facts along the way. The land was used for grazing cattle before it became one of the most famous places on earth. The buildings were designed to look like a college campus. The displayed Saturn rocket was the most massive rocket ever built, and so on. As we approached the Christopher C. Kraft Jr Mission Control Center, we were cautioned that the building was still in operation, and we were to remain absolutely silent during our time there.
We entered Mission Control and climbed over 80 stairs to the Apollo command center. NASA had spent millions renovating the room, which echoed a 60s vibe. The space was filled with built-in CRT consoles and huge viewing screens. We stepped into the observation room and took our seats. This was the same room that dignitaries and the press used when the actual flights took place. Even the burnt orange theater-style chairs were the original ones. Our guide started up a video that explained the significance of the room. Then it happened, the entire control room lit up. The computer monitors turned on and started to stream data. The giant screens illuminated showing flight paths and the grainy image of Neil Armstrong as he took his first steps on another world. It felt like I had been transported in time. My heart started to race as I felt my excitement build. The same excitement that I felt on that July night in 1969 when I saw the first video transmission of a human being walking on another world.
As the space program continued, people lost interest. They grumbled that the cost was too high for too little. However, the price isn’t only measured in the gain of scientific knowledge, the discovery of new materials, or political bragging rights. An entire generation of children became interested in science because of these programs. They became computer designers, engineers, medical doctors, researchers, and pilots. I think it is impossible to determine the overall gain that our country made because of NASA and the space program.
The Johnson Space Center continues as a facility that now manages satellites as well as missions to the International Space Station. A new initiative, the Orion program, will return humans to the moon and eventually to Mars over the next few decades.
On the shuttle to the Johnson Space Center, I saw young children. I wondered if one of these boys or girls lives will change due to their visit? A future scientist, engineer, researcher, or astronaut? NASA isn’t a waste of taxpayer’s money, it is a substantial investment in our future. Just like President Kennedy, we need to summon our imaginations to comprehend this fact.