A bit about addiction from the Appendix of my Autobiography

Appended Material

1) My AA Story

In Alcoholics Anonymous, anonymity is important.  Still, sometime it can't be maintained completely while using various opportunities to pass on the message.  That's what is happening here.  Dear readers:  Please accept this thinly veiled attempt to formally maintain an anonymous position, while passing on to my posterity an address that an AA member, Steve G, presented at an open speaker meeting in Aiken, S.C. early in 2015.  Be assured, that being an AA member does not convey to any individual the right to speak for the organization.  All any of us can do is to speak about our own "experience, strength, and hope."

February 16, 2015

First Christian Church

Aiken Central Group

Aiken SC

6:30 PM

My AA Story

The formula for an any AA's story is to tell 'em how it was, then tell 'em what happened, and, finally, tell 'em what it's like now--which is the formula for the following. 

First, though, I'd like to thank Golfer John for inviting me here tonight.  And I'd like to thank you, my first ever AA group, the Linden Streeters, the Aiken Central Group now known far and wide as the Honeybaked Hammers, or so I'm told.  Thank you for giving me this opportunity. 

While I wasn't exactly an alcoholic at the time (although I did have the requisite genetic makeup,) I began my life journey in July of 1944 in Talladega, Alabama.  My parents were there with my dad working for DuPont making smokeless powder for the war effort, and they brought me with them, so to speak.  I'm not sure how long we stayed, but with the surrender of Japan in September 1945, the need for smokeless powder became much more limited than it had been during the war and, sometime after that, I suspect, we moved to southern Indiana where mom and dad bought (or rented) a house in Clarksville, Indiana, a town a short drive away from New Albany, the town where they both grew up.  For the record, although my memory fails me on this, I suspect I was not Alcoholic at the time.  Milk was my main nutrient and personal growth was the name of the game--by personal growth, I mean progressing from an initial seven plus pounds to whatever I could gain during that first year or so of life. 

Somewhere along the line my mom and dad had a party.  New Albany and Clarksville are both just across the Ohio River from Louisville, Kentucky, which once a year becomes the horse racing capital of the world with the running of the Kentucky Derby.  My dad was always something of an organizer, and a socialite, so the occasion of a Kentucky Derby was always to be a family occasion for a Kentucky Derby party. 

The highlight of the party was the race itself, and when it was happening, all the adults converged around the radio in one of the rooms to listen.  Unbeknownst to them, "little Stevie" at two or three years of age, took the opportunity to help his mother clean up by drinking whatever he wanted of the various libations that had been left around in one of the other rooms.  Needless to say, my memory of this incident isn't exactly precise.  I do think I can report I probably did not drink alcoholically on that, my first opportunity to imbibe, and the opportunity to do so again did not recur for a good many years (my parents were fast learners.)  Which is to say, my drinking days came to a swift halt.  "Little Stevie" was now a "teetotaler."

We moved.  Our address went from Clarksville to somewhere in the mid-west, I can't say where, but it was some place where there was a meat-packing plant.  Dad got a promotion and we moved again, I think to Richmond, Virginia.  To get that next promotion, dad had to change companies.  The company he went to work for, still a meat-packing plant, was in Orangeburg, South Carolina.  We stayed in Orangeburg while I grew as I became a kindergartner, then a first-grader, then a second-grader, then a third-grader.   My best friend, Frankie Farnum, lived a fence climb away to the Southeast.  That fence was climbed every day.  I learned to ride a bike, shoot a bb gun, catch "mud puppies" and build straw fires.  I probably shouldn't have learned that last skill since what I didn't learn first was how to keep the fire where I wanted it.  We burned up a quarter acre of broom sage straw one day, and since I was the one who struck the match, I was the one who caught hell.  (Catching hell wasn't exactly how I expressed it at that time, though--I was a good Methodist, you see, and the only one who was allowed to use that word, Hell, was the preacher.)  Also, as a good Methodist, my teetotaler needs were protected by my church since its official position at that time was a good Methodist did not drink. 

Times were different, then.  There was a large pecan orchard a street away from the house and we kids used it as a playground.  One day a black kid from the other side of the orchard was playing there too.  We got to know each other and met several times.  A lady from one of the adjoining houses noticed this and found out where I lived.  She contacted my mother, and I was told I was not to play with my new friend.  I told him this the next day.  He said his mother had told him the same thing. 

The next time I had a chance to learn any race-relation skills was when I went into the Air Force in 1965.  Segregation in the South was total in those days, you see, and I was protected by the community.  Had this not been the case, who knows, maybe my friend could have turned me on to some shine. 

Towards the end of my third grade, dad moved again.  Seems they were building a new plant near Aiken, SC, and dad's DuPont experience was just the ticket.  He rented a house in Crosland Park and boy was that great.  There were kids everywhere!  The City was building a new elementary school just up the road, and Crosland Park kids were almost numerous enough to fill it up.  Somehow I was able to maintain my abstinence during this time, and still get along with the other kids.  For some reason, I never seemed to have problems with interpersonal relations despite the absence of alcohol during the rest (or almost the rest) of my public school days.  Why was that, I wonder?  The only problem I had in interpersonal relations was a lack of dating skills. 

As a matter of fact, even though I had that lack, I did my share of dating.  I just did not relate as well as many of the guys did, if you know what I mean.  (The girls' nickname for me was "the fog."  I never asked why.)  My loss, I guess, but, again, maybe not.  Drink, though, was able to punch a hole in my abstinence during my senior year.  A girl friend (two words) had parents who, apparently never had the problem my parents had with "little Stevie" and a rather substantial liquor cabinet was left unguarded during a couple of parties my girl friend and her girl friends threw towards the end of the school year.  Interestingly enough, my capacity for alcohol was considerable, giving me the drive home duties for my group.  One alcoholic genetic omen, I'd say. 

Also, luckily, or so I thought, for me, my church had changed its stand, now saying drinking was a matter of individual determination (so I determined.)  And, perhaps unluckily enough, was the fact that my other 12 step program did not discuss the problem.  Few scouts, at that time, were in need of alcohol abuse counseling.  I've since wondered, though, if I had stuck with that 12 step program (A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent--count 'em) would I have had the need for my current 12 step program.  Who knows? 

High school ended, and I headed to Atlanta to take a few engineering classes.  I didn't drink, though, it just wasn't convenient.  I also didn't work very well in an academic setting, and after a few years my school's group of Deans decided they could do without my questionable contributions.  It was 1965, Vietnam and the draft were in full force, and my student deferment was more than in danger.  I checked out all the services and the Air Force seemed to give me the best deal.  At that point in time, the Air Force was a good place to go to get a drink.  Honest!

After basic training, I was sent to Biloxi to take electronics training.  In addition to our studies, my group excelled in after hours beer drinking.  I definitely did my share.  How I managed to graduate with honors is anybody's guess.  I guess that alcoholic capacity began to shift into high.  In any case, after a little less than a year I was sent packing to Istanbul to provide communications for a diplomatic consulate that we had there in Turkey's largest and most cosmopolitan city.  Drinking in this Moslem country was nevertheless an option.  Our "NCO club" was a short elevator ride away from my room.  I drank daily, but not excessively.  I could go to the bar and drink two beers and leave.  Which is what I generally did.  The only time I remember getting drunk while there was when I was taking a sociology class.  I wondered how I might do on my tests after having had "a few."  One drink--no problem.  Next test, two drinks--still no problem--if anything, I did fairly well on the various discussion problems.  Three drinks didn't seem to help, but I was still passing.  Four shots on the fourth test got me a visit to the professor.  Seems I started off all right but towards the end of the test he had difficulty reading my answers.  I passed, anyway.  I never repeated the experiment.  This wasn't alcoholic drinking, but it was a long way from my teetotaler days.

From Istanbul I traveled to Saigon.  The atmosphere was a good bit different from my previous assignment, to say the least.  I was shot at twice, once with rockets that missed the aircraft "charley" was trying to hit and killed a guy two barracks over from me, and once during "Tet" of '68 when "Uncle Ho" decided to show the world he could hit us anywhere and anytime he wanted.  We were "showed."  He could!  Drinking was a major pass time, and I definitely did my share.  Still, although I was drunk my share of the time, and in any other place one might have given alcoholism a thought or two, when I returned stateside I did not continue with the drink.  I still had no need for AA, and I still was able to drink like "normal" people.

Out of the service, and back from Vietnam, after begging my way back into Ga. Tech., I turned into a pretty good student.  I made the Dean's list a couple of times and graduated with a degree in chemistry.  Whoop-te-doo!  I drank moderately the whole time (three more years) with a couple of major exceptions.  One time I went to sleep in the hallway of an apartment building I managed, only waking up when one of Atlanta's finest asked me what the problem was (a resident had called him.)  Being the manager got me off that time.

The next time was when I was helping a drunk I had met at the "Stein Club" on Peachtree get to his home near Tenth Street close to what was called the "hippie district."   This time I got to see the inside of one of the City's "drunk tanks."  No real biggie, I'd say, my roommate bailed me out the next morning.  Still not an alcoholic, I'd say; still the progression was there.  

After graduation, I looked for a job in South Carolina.  I went to whatever Job Service was called at the time and the counselor there said they only had one thing that I might be suited for, a "chemist-bacteriologist" for the City of Columbia.  I told them I guess I should check it out (did I tell you while at Tech I took virtually all of my non-requisite course work at the "applied biology" department?)  I worked for Columbia at their newly constructed wastewater treatment plant off of Bluff Road.  I married during the first year and my wife Jennie and I began putting a family together, starting with twins (all my good planning, of course.) 

After three years I obtained a job with the City of Sumter as their wastewater treatment superintendent.  Jennie and I had another child while there.  Heavy drinking really was not an option, but I drank carefully.  After three years there, a job came open with the Oconee County Sewer Commission and we again moved.  I should have stayed there.  Instead, we made one more move.  Having been in Oconee (beautiful country up there) we went to south Mississippi to head a three-county sewage commission.  We managed four years down there and while I did my part to get the required facilities constructed, I began to drink less moderately and more often.  Of course I wasn't an alcoholic (I read everything the local library had on the subject.)  How could I be an alcoholic and be able to take off from drinking every lenten season?  Of course I had a beer in hand every Easter morning. 

Consequently, I got myself fired.  We moved back to my hometown, Aiken, and both of us went to work.  The one good thing that came from this was bringing our kids to a school district that would give them the training they needed to succeed at life.  Southern Mississippi was, after all Southern Mississippi.  If South Carolina was 49th in some parameter, Mississippi was 50th.  Unfortunately my drinking was becoming alcoholic, and that made work difficult, at best. 

We worked to support ourselves and our children.  Pell grants helped a lot with their educational needs.  The children, now young adults, all did well.  I drank more.  Why?  Well, let me quote a fellow Linden Streeter:  "I'm an alcoholic, that's what we do."  (Thanks, Mike.)

Jennie and I separated (her choice.)  Drinking was the reason.  Luckily, I had a place to go.  You've heard of 40 something men living with their mothers?  Well, I tried it.  After a while my mother figured out what the problem was with me.  She had a man from the church come by and talk with me.  I stumbled up the stairs at 123 Linden Street. 

They told me to read the first 164 pages of the Big Book.  I did.  They told me to come to 90 meetings in 90 days.  I did, and then some.  They told me to get a sponsor.  I asked a guy I knew would make a good sponsor and he agreed.  He said, give me a call.  I never did.  Guess I thought I knew everything I needed to know.  I read more literature.  I kept coming to meetings and picking up chips.  They gave me a blue chip.

I drank.

Actually, what I did was to pronounce myself cured.  And, being cured, I knew it would be OK to drink.  After all, I had been sober for 365 days, had I not?   Jim Beam, Johnny Walker, and Jack Daniels could no longer have their way with me!  I was cured!   Riiiiiiiiiiiiight............

It took me a year to get back to AA.  This time I would do things a bit differently.  The main thing was the problem with having a sponsor but not using the services of a sponsor.  I tried again.  It worked.  My sponsor and I attended the same meeting daily.  Paul M. and I talked, at length, at least once a week.  He filled in the blanks and answered questions I didn't even know I had.  He heard my fifth step.  I joined the group. 

And that was it, right?  Well, not exactly.  You see, that term "hard headed alcoholic" does not just apply to that guy who always used to use it to describe himself.  It applies to many, many, many of us.  I don't remember if I stayed sober three or four years after that second start, all I know is I stopped going to meetings and went back out. 

Some time later, I came back in again.  That has happened at least five times since I first walked up those stairs at 123 Linden Street, and every time I went back out something else happened to drive me back in that was worse than anything that had ever happened before. 

My last "bottom" happened six years and several months ago.  You may remember seeing my mug shot on the front page of the "AikenStandard."  It seems I drank, blacked out, and ended the evening by pointing a .380 at my long suffering wife.  She did the right thing and summoned help.  The combination of the act and a publisher of a paper that did not particularly appreciate the suggestions I used to make from time to time, concerning deficiencies of his paper and its reporting, resulted in his taking the opportunity to criticize my actions on his paper's front page.  What could be worse? 

Every time I went back out I had one thought:  "It will be different this time."  If I ever have this thought again, I will call any or all of a dozen AAs I know and drop in on the first of them who will have me.  I will go to a meeting, and then to another meeting.  I will go to a church, or possibly many churches.  I will check into a detox facility.  My thought "It will be different this time" was true every time I had it:  It was always different:  It was always worse.  And, what can be worse than my last?  Well, I could have pulled the trigger. 

It took me 30 days, or more precisely, it took my brother 30 days to convince my wife I did not belong in the Aiken County Detention Center--that it would be all right to put our house up as collateral for my bond.  When I got out I spent a week in Hotel Aiken while I looked for a place to stay.  Christmas came and I had my Christmas turkey out of a 6 ounce can.  Was I going to meetings?  You bet!  As often as I could, I went to those meetings.  I found a place to stay (a long-time friend, Dick S. was instrumental in this.)  I got a vehicle from a grandfather-in-law.  I invested in a local lawyer (he would call it a "retainer") and began the work of making a defense of my actions.  

I found out not only the alcohol but also a prescribed medication, simvastatin, could have caused the blackout and behavior I was charged with.  A double chemical whammy, I'd say.  I've taken neither since my arrest (the alcohol) or a couple of months after the arrest (the statin.)  I talked with my children.  I talked with my wife.  I still have no memory of what happened that night.  I hope I never remember it.   

Eventually, my wife decided to give me one more chance.  I'd have to say one last chance would be a better statement of fact.  We are back together, somewhat comfortably retired with social security and a small military retirement (20 plus years with the South Carolina Air National Guard.)  Had we divorced we would be like some I know, uncomfortably retired with insufficient funds to maintain the two residences we would require. 

Like my wife, the court system also decided to give me one last chance.  While my actions could have resulted in five years' interment in the state prison system, the lack of a witness willing to testify along with my personal admission of guilt, in spite of having no memory to back up that admission, and a judge's realization that my "record" was virtually nonexistent resulted in time served plus five years' probation, which time is or shortly will be up.  

My wife and I have a dog she found at Molly's Militia.  He weighed two pounds when we got him. He's more like thirty today.  We call him our menopause dog.  We also have a sweet old puddy tat we call K-2 that walked up one day as a kitten and stayed.  We have several goldfish that we protect from the neighborhood raccoons with an electric wire around their pool.  A 'possum calls our front porch walkup home, and a feral cat drops by twice a day for handouts as do numerous seed or suet eating birds and a troop of the prettiest squirrels anyone would ever need.  Our kids are all prosperous, our grandchildren are well, and life is good.  Of course, I know how to change all that, and I pray God will help me remember what I have to remember and do what I have to do to not bring to bear any such change.

My personal program for sobriety today goes something like this:  First, I begin each day with a reading from the “Daily Reflections.”  This reminds me of my alcoholism and my need to maintain my contact with the program.  Next, I continue to work the program of Alcoholics Anonymous.  Using a second AA book, the "Twelve and Twelve," and many hours of my one-time sponsor's time, I have worked through all the steps and continue to actively utilize steps 10, 11, and 12 for maintenance.  I go to two meetings a week with the New Ellenton group.  I like to think we are a small but distinguished family.  I talk with other AAs and emailingly correspond with them daily. 

12th step work, too, is important to me.  You can find me at Aurora Pavilion twice a week, something I have been blessed to do ever since Frank G. invited me to drop in when he was leading those meetings.  I have seen people pass through Aurora and join our various AA groups to begin to grow as only an AA member can.  The several of us who go to Aurora today know those we are serving will not all find success for themselves, but they will provide those of us who use them as an opportunity to give back to the program, one vehicle we need for our success. 

Do I experience cravings?  No.  I once did, but that, thankfully, was many 24 hours ago.  Do I want to drink?  No way.  The only thing I miss about drinking is the taste of the various elixirs I used to use.  I can do without those tastes, though.  That's a small price to pay for serenity.  Do I give much thought to my sobriety?  Other than when someone does something like ask me to be somewhere and do something like Golfer John asked me the other day, no.  And why do I say that? 

Well, I've thought myself out of my sobriety at least five times in the last twenty-one years and I'm not willing to risk doing it one more time.  There are a lot of reasons out there to drink.  Take resveratrol for example.  Some scientists say that would be good for my heart.  It would take just a little cabernet sauvignon with my evening meal for me to get all the resveratrol I might need, I suspect.  Big deal. 

If I really need resveratrol, I can get it in purified form in pills.  Why should I bother giving any consideration to this or any other so called reason to do what I have already, too many times, proven is something that is critically bad for me?  Spending time on any so-called "reason to drink" is, for me, a waste of time, and a dangerous one, at that.  If and when I want to think about something useful, though, I start with the serenity prayer.

I use the serenity prayer along with our paragraph on acceptance as my own personal mantras and repeat them whenever I feel the need.  Acceptance really is the answer to all my problems today.  It is my vehicle to serenity in my day-to-day life and it provides me with the answer to questions that have no answers. 

I watch my thoughts for that phrase "it will be different this time" and pass this knowledge on whenever and wherever I can, yes, it will be different--and if you're thinking about returning to drink, just know it will always get worse. 

And I remember daily to reaffirm my commitment to sobriety, a commitment that makes me say I am again a teetotaler, just as I was when I began life.  It's funny:  While "teetotaler” was once a dirty word in my lexicon, it's now something I'm proud of.  In becoming a teetotaler, again, and in making that commitment, I first must remember that I once made a commitment to drinking, a strong, enduring commitment that made me a stalwart defender of my disease and almost placed me in line with many of my cohorts to assure for myself a permanent place in a mental institution, or jail, or death.  I personally know people who have chosen each of these for themselves. 

Death, of course, comes to virtually all of God's creatures and must be accepted, sometimes with joy, when God brings it to us.  The other two ends, though, I, personally, have already had more than enough of.  Two weeks at “Focus by the Sea” is something I enjoyed, but would not wish to have to repeat, especially at 700 year 2006 dollars a day, and to spend another 30 days in Aiken County’s Wire Road Detention Center would be a total waste of time for anyone who wasn’t totally hooked on turkey baloney sandwiches. 

My commitment today to sobriety is a commitment that, God willing, this "hard headed alcoholic" will maintain above all others till, hopefully, I join my humble friend (one of many) Tom C. who, during my early days in AA, reminded me daily and without fail to just "keep coming back."

Humility, acceptance, serenity, and service--these are keys that must be learned, used and always remembered and observed.  When I add to this a personal absolute commitment to sobriety and the knowledge that I can, and must "keep coming back," I believe I will be able to own the assurance that this time, it will indeed, be different.

And thanks to all of you for your service, your AA service, of course.  Every meeting you attend is your opportunity to 12th step someone, and sometimes you will do it without even realizing what you are doing.  Thanks.  Today you have helped me.

SVG

[The autobiography itself is available from Amazon.com--take a look at their books section and do a search on Stephen V. Geddes.  If you are an Aikenite, or a classmate of mine as a graduate of the 1962 class at at Aiken High, it, all 260 or so pages or so, might make a good addition to your coffee table, or so I think!  If you or someone you know might have an addiction problem, the book, and its appendix, of course, would also make good reading for you or that "someone".]

Brain games

I find I often awaken somewhat in the middle of the night. Not a problem, mind you, unless I begin to give some matter just a little bit of thought. Then, I’m in trouble.

In trouble, you say? Why’s that?

Well, it’s really simple. The problem, you see, is with that “just a little bit of thought” thing. Just a little bit is a bit like that mustard seed you planted out back one day. Seems if conditions are just right, in not too long a time what might start out as a very small plant just could begin to grow to proportions that are more than a bit troublesome. Big, I mean! A good thing, you say? Well, not if you are the one who has to keep up with those growths that may or may not be in accordance with some City ordinance that some do-gooder may have come up with some time in the past when you just weren’t paying attention. Do-gooders are a bit troublesome at times, or so it seems. They come up with things that may seem reasonable at the time but that can be just a bit troublesome if pushed to the limit.

Which is what happens to me in my night time ramblings. Awake again, you say? Yes, dang it--again, always again. Tonight I find myself watching a program. It’s in black and white, something that many pretty good programs might come across as, if they were made in that pre-color time which was our television’s first efforts at becoming a useful tool for almost everything imaginable. Well, to get to the point, this program was about a man who discovers his son is growing some mushrooms in his basement. He doesn’t think much of it until he finds he is one of several people in his purview who has a similar situation. He follows his son down to his current project and becomes its latest victim when he falls under the spell of a son who has morphed into a quite different creature, mentally, and old dad eats a sandwich given to him by his one time son. The sandwich contains the mushrooms, of course, and by taking that first bite, our hero is to become a new creature himself.

Twilight zone, I’m thinking? No, Alfred Hitchcock. Interesting how these shows seemed to copy one another--something I did not even think of when fourth grade me had the occasion to watch our first ever television set.

And, of course, thanks for watc--er--reading, just a bit of this Blog!

Thanks.

‘Splain things, would you now?

              ‘Splain things, would you now?

Write, write, write to your heart’s content. The question is, why write at all? Maybe I should pass on a bit from an early post I made in Blogger, https://stephenvgeddes.blogspot.com/2011/10/autumn-again-harleys-blowers-and-rakes.html. One reason to write is to express your opinions about a topic or two (or three, four, whatever,) and to do so for any purpose under the sun. On the day that the given topic was addressed, I had a few thoughts about my neighbor, a friendly guy, with a friendly wife, who, in spite of being friendly, did some things in a manner that provided a bit of hardship on anyone living in hearing distance of his infernal machinery.

But did I complain? Noooooo. Should I have complained? Well, you be the judge here. I would have liked to, but that bit about my neighbor and his wife (two shall become as one works to a certain degree) being friendly was totally true and “complain” was not something I would have wanted to burden either one of us with. So, I did what I could, and retreated to the relative comfort and quiet of the interior of my home, as I pointed out in the topic of the day back in 2011. This, while not entirely satisfactory, was the best I could do. Maybe somewhere, sometime they might have seen that blog entry and decided there might be ways to be even better neighbors than they already were. Maybe. In any case, they moved (hopefully not because of my blog) and their noisy tools went with them.

Again I find myself in the autumn of the year, and, instead of my neighbors, themselves, many of them have yard contractors who seem to have tools they find useful that are every bit as onorous as the tools of my neighbors of days gone by. Geesh! Can anything at all be done? Is the leaf rake a thing of the past that has not the least hope of any kind of useful resurrection?

I guess I could go to one of our city’s meeting of its governing body, the City Council, and make my thoughts known. After all, it is not just I who finds these leaf blowers and other such “tools” bothersome. When I walk my dog Tobijuan, and we approach an area where these “tools” are in use, he makes his opinion known by attempting to turn around. It seems the “tools’” discharges actually hurt his ears. And, interestingly enough, I can relate to that. One day, while working at a horse farm, I decided to use one of the owner’s blowers myself. I thought nothing of the task until the next day. Unfortunately, I now have more than just a bit of hearing loss from my transgression (I did not wear ear plugs that one time and one time only.)

As for my dog and I on our walks, the best I can sometimes do in these situations is simply to run. We begin our run a hundred yards out or so and continue for a second hundred to put the hurtful situation behind us sufficiently far to give his ears the needed relief. Would pointing this out to our City Council do any good at all, I wonder? Well, maybe if I were to at least give these leaders of ours the opportunity to read a bit of the thoughts of one of its citizens on the matter of needless neighborhood noise, something might be done about the utility (or lack of same) of the so-called mufflers in use today by our contractors (and some of our neighbors to boot!)

And, while I’m sure there are some things about me that my neighbors don’t particularly like, I wonder if bringing up my likes and dislikes about things over which I have no control might cause them to take action against me for whatever problems they feel I may be causing them. I would hope they would first point out my transgressions to me. Maybe there are things that could be done--in any case, I hope I am not keeping them awake nights, or causing them to have to run past my home with their animals, as I sometime must do when I approach their domiciles.

Cans of worms. Best left alone, or not? What do you think? (The blog does have a section for comments from readers, you know.)

Thanks.

Steve

Here a Blog...

Here a Blog, there a Blog, everywhere a Blog, Blog.... Or so I think. A friend of mine once described an acquaintence as being a “writer.” To quote my friend, he even has his own “Blog!” Well, I thought, so do I, but is that what it takes to be a “writer?” I guess I might answer myself by saying, “Well, yes, and no.”

And why is that, you might ask...?

Well, here we go!

Yes, I do have my own blog (that’s “web log,” to you readers who might not recognize the contraction,) and I do “write” a bit, as one might guess, though that “bit” has been a bit abbreviated lately. You see, somewhere along the line, I decided to write for real, just a bit, which is what I did. And, thanks to Amazon, I actually published my first “book,” i.e., “Stephen V. Geddes, an Autobiography,” something a bit more substantial than anything I might have written before (or since, for that matter.) And by “a bit,” I mean 200 pages or so--more if you would include the appendix additions.

So, if you want to call “yours truly” a “writer,” I guess you can. After all, Ben Franklin could be called a writer, right? He did write an autobiography (which I read in the tenth grade, I believe, thanks to Mrs. Carr!) I believe he titled it “The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin,” or something of that sort. Guess I copied my “title” a bit after ole Ben and his work! One thing’s for sure, if I wanted to do a follow-on to anyone, ole Ben would be a real good selection!

In any case, my autobiography was something I did for my family--a family I am justifiably proud of. And the autobiography was preceeded by a pamphlet which provided the outline I used to write the basics of the book (again with thanks to Amazon.com).

And now, maybe if that Valerian has had time to kick in, I’ll give sleep a bit of a try. Tomorrow (really later today,) I’ll return to this post, or maybe to the Blog itsself, to attempt to continue and add to this brief comment and maybe even try to live up to that “writer” title that I might allow my friend to annoint me with the next time I see him. I will at that time point out the fact that I, too, do have my own “Blog,” thanks, of course, to "Blogger."

Won’t he be impressed? Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see!

Eat an Orange Roughy today?

http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/crux/2019/09/11/americans-commonly-eat-orange-roughy-a-fish-scientists-say-can-live-to-250-years-old/?utm_source=Yesmail&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=News0_DSC_190919_00000#.XYN18ShKjIU



Hope the above address works for you.  It comes from a pretty good magazine, and has an article (above) you might want to read.

I, for one, will never eat anything containing this fish again! 

Now, for what it's worth, I don't see what I hoped to share here.  Seems that Orange Roughy is a fish that lives for centuries.  Unless we catch and do whatever the fishermen seem to want us to do with it.  Sorry--anything this old must be here for a reason, and us eating it is not the kind of reason I think it was placed on this earth for.  Never again, as I said. 

As for the magazine article, I guess since my subscription lapsed, I am not able to recommend any of its articles to you.  Guess you can do whatever you want with the magazine.  I do hope you will join me in not eating anything containing this fish, though, no more "Orange Roughy" for me, hopefully no more for Thee, either!

If I ever had a share--Ellen Geddes, Tops in the US!

This is fantastic!

All I can say is, it's already been said, and I want it in my Blog from now on!  Niece Ellen, WAY TO GO!!!

https://www.teamusa.org/News/2019/September/16/Wheelchair-Fencing-Has-Come-Naturally-To-Ellen-Geddes-Now-The-Top-Ranked-Woman-In-The-US?fbclid=IwAR0HXvOJPcSoBVNefRHnGxhOjXFgGA9Qd1z4qyFgbVtLmctSHg7AGoMvrNc


Don't know if there ever was another Geddes or Newbanks or Wishart who could take honors like this, ever, ever, ever!  Congratulations to Ellen and her Dad and Mother, for that matter.  TOP IN THE US!  GREAT!!!!

Darlington International Raceway, 8/31/2019

Darlington International Raceway, 8/31/2019

Sitting here, In the family home in Aiken SC, today, 31 August, 2019, I am watching our local channel 26-1 WAGT-DT, watching, with bated breath, the running of NASCAR at Darlington International Raceway in Darlington South Carolina.

With bated breath, you say, WHAT the HEY!! Well, you see, few people on this earth can say they have experience driving on that track, few people, indeed.

But I am one of those few.

You see, it was a clear blue sky day, in the mid 1970’s when I drove my for-sure “stock” car onto the track there at Darlington.  And did that seem fine! I’d never been there before, (or since, for that matter) but that day was a “gold star” day in my book, and drive I did, as never before! And, of all the participants that day, I crossed that magic line FIRST !!!

Now none of you have probably heard of my feat before now, and there is a reason for that. You see, my reason for being there was highly personal, and, in the long run, quite profitable. Not as a race driver, though. For some reason, the powers that be (or were) had managed to obtain the use of that little white building on the inside of the track, adjacent to the track’s start/finish line to provide a unique test for myself and my cohort working to gain acceptance by the State of South Carolina, of us, as certified water or wastewater treatment plant operators in our fair State. The test I took was the first one, I believe, I had to take to become a certified operator (a test I passed with flying colors) in our state, a test which began a 20 year run of my own doing what I needed to do to provide for my family and provide water and wastewater treatment in our state and the state of Mississippi that would be acceptable and useful to its citizens and to their environment.

And I did my level best to begin that career at the President’s Office building at Darlington Raceway on that day back, as I said, in the mid 1970’s. Quite an accomplishment, and quite a day in my professional life. (And a pretty good story, wouldn’t you say?)

And thanks for reading this little tale on Morningbrain--Deux !!

Stephen V. Geddes, “A” Certified Operator, (Retired) Water and Wastewater (Biological and Physical-Chemical) Treatment. And, OH YES, Driver, on Darlington International Raceway, One Time, and One Time, Only !!!

Need a painkiller? Read this first!

Need a painkiller? Read this first!

Painkillers, like the ubiquitous, it seems, opioids, continue to confound those needing the relief given by the drugs, while avoiding taking them to the point of becoming addicted to the “high” that often accompanies the relief from pain that was the reason for the prescription in the first place. Once some difficult to predict line is crossed, pain relief changes to an addiction requirement. And, while the initial requirement may no longer be needed, the follow-on requirement brings on a mental/physical requirement that is every bit as strong (or, moreso, even) than the original need which brought about the prescription from the user’s doctor.

This situation being understood places both the user and the doctor in a quandary. How is one to avoid, first, the pain and at the same time not become addicted to the medicine (and that “high” it produces) that is giving the pain relief? One way to achieve the needed avoidance is to first understand the situation. One well done explanation may be found in an on-line publication from Johns Hopkins that was provided almost ten years ago, to wit: https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/wellness-and-prevention/prescribed-a-painkiller-if-its-an-opioid-read-this-first.   Doctors and their patients should review this brief summary before the first pill is prescribed or taken. Information given could be life saving. Two other groups of people who should also take the time to become informed (or more informed) about these drugs and their addictive effects are our lawmakers and the law enforcement community.

If everyone needing to know about these addictive drugs were to take the time to know more about them, perhaps their prescription and proper use could be maintained or initiated without the continued increase in addictive use and deaths seen from the same misuse of the drugs currently continuing to be on the rise, as was found over ten years ago by concerned medical personnel.

Other references that may be helpful are contained in the article. For more recent work, try Google-san. In any case, if you need help with pain, also get help to avoid the problem of addiction--something that would, quite possibly, be worse than the initial problem or the pain associated with it.  Something that, in many cases, led to the addicts death.  Better to deal with the pain some other way than to become one more hopeless addict.

"Shark Teethers"

A little something from Edisto vacations of the past!

circa 1980? Summer, of course.

                        "Shark Teethers"

They walk down the beach with their eye to their toe,

They craze down the beach, they really move slow.

Looking for remains from the creature of fright,

They're out on the beach, from morning to night.

Huntin' and ‘a searchin' just to find what they seek:

They're the shark teeth seekers, "Shark Teethers!"

From Charleston to Edisto, to Hunting Isle,

When they find that tooth, they really put on a smile!

Although they may have jars of teeth back on a shelf, 

They just keep on ‘a searchin’--they want more for themselves,

Huntin’ and ‘a searchin’ just to find what they seek:

They’re the shark teeth seekers, “Shark Teethers!”

A hundred million years ago all over the sound

Those teeth were all in sharks, just a swimmin’ around

And if a tooth would fall out when a shark took a bite,

Another one would grow back in almost overnight....

So, if you’re at the beach and you go for a walk,

And you don’t feel like swimming, you don’t want to talk,

Just walk real slow, keep your eye to the ground,

And before you’ve gone too far that first tooth you’ll have found

Don’t worry that they’ll all be gone, they’re still bein’ made,

You’re a shark teeth seeker, Shark Teether

              A shark teeth seeker, Shark Teether

                            A shark teeth seeker, Shark Teether...... 

Copyright 2019 (or 1980+/- just can’t say!) by Stephen V. Geddes, Aiken SC

Now, on to YouTube!

Did it again, via our "Presidential" Trump Card

Now, lest there be any question in anyone's mind as to the reason behind the naming of this Blog, the time now, in Aiken SC, is three-thirty-five (and it's not in the PM, folks,) and so, having lain in my bed for a full thirty minutes without having the usual nocturnal passout, I decided I heard my laptop calling (steve?  steve?  wherefor art thou, steve?)  

So here we are.  (Feel better, my faithful little HP?  Well, I just thought you might.)  Now, as to the brain....  

Yes, that''s right--the brain.  Why now, brain?  Well, I guess you had your reasons, at that.  About two weeks ago I meandered down the road to my South Aiken post office branch and made a deposit into their system.  And, at this point in time, I want to thank Cousin Barbara for her kind acknowledgement.  It seems the United States Postal Service has made good on its contract with me and at least one of the eight mailings I made that day arrived at its intended target.  That was good.  Thanks, Barbara!

Now for the rest of my time here with HP, all I can say is I see our beloved "President" continues in his unpresidential ways to be a dark cloud hovering over our beloved "White House."  It is interesting how he is able to make each and every (almost) good situation look a bit bad, and each and every questionable situation look a bit worse than it probably is, and each and every bad situation look questionable.  Why is he always off the mark?  Guess it's just the nature of the beast.  Maybe he's just a little bit like me--just a little bit off target (Mine is usually a 9, though!)  Do you suppose?  (Well, I guess I give myself just a little bit too much credit--what, who, Moi? Presidential?  Absurd.)  

As for dear old President tRump,  Presidential?  Again, absurd, I'm afraid.  He's about as presidential today as he was when he was taped talking about how the women in his life liked him to lead them around using their own short hairs as leashes.  Presidential?  Well, Cousin Joe points out dear ole, LBJ may have been the leader in this crotch business.  And if you don't remember this any better than I did, try going to Cousin Joe's FaceBook page at https://www.facebook.com/drbuchman ,   He just might be able to provide a bit of enlightenment here.

Or so I think.

End "Citizens United" and End Corporate Pac money

End "Citizens United" and End Corporate Pac money.  Good proposals, or what?

Two things are wrong here--One, Citizens United are not "Citizens" "United," it is a ruling by the supreme court that allows large, secret donations to political organizations--to include actual donations to politicians' campaigns as well as donations of sentiment in advertizements and other paid-for things (stuff) used to influence elections.  That being the case, we "Citizens" must "Unite" to see that this ruling is overturned or defined in such a way that anyone wanting to influence American elections may do so as a matter of free speech so long as "who is doing what" is definitively specified at the time it is being done and later.  Secrecy in political donations or "electioneering" must not be allowed.  That being said, the following may be useful.  Attempting to end Corporate Pac money will only end same to Democrats.  Why do that?  Let everyone take the S's(orD's)OBs' money.  Just so long as all concerned know taking the money won't guarantee that any representative will do what the donors, secret of otherwise, want to get done.  Each representative must assuredly do what is right, regardless.  If the Pac's interests do not conflict with the American People's interests, no problem.  Where there is a conflict, again, no problem so long as the representatives' votes remain in the interests of the American People.  Should a situation come up where a political representative does not follow the above requirement, and should same be proven in court, then that politician must forfeit all political funding received from any source (to include personal salaries) said funding to be returned to the public coffers.

"All Citizens United" should be our goal.  AND let the corporations send money to all our representatives if they wish.  That's OK, SO LONG AS THEY KNOW NO donated amounts, no matter how large, will be enough to buy those representatives' votes when those votes are not in the best interests of the voters in their respective districts and/or states.

The question here is:  How do we, in America, Get This Done?

Or, is this an impossible goal?

If so, Why?

Ecological BD Card

Happy Birthday Stash!  5/28/2019

'Twas an ecological birthday card we gave to Stash today,

An ecological birthday card, complete in every way.

An ecological birthday card, you know we had to search hard--

Ecologically right, which makes it quite, a really, really good card

So tell me dad, just what it is that's special 'bout this card?

Oh well, you see, we almost thought we'd have to hire a bard.

But then we found it, and then we knew it was the very one

That you should get this very day from your mom and dad, dear son!

For on its front, all speckled there, a glory to behold,

From earth to sky a silver crest of glitter did it embold!

And opening that single page the letters they did spell,

That "Happy Birthday" in solid gold this special card did tell.

Ecologically (you'll see) it's quite a card, clean in every way,

And just as long as it stays that way, we all may easily say:

This is a card, ecologically right, our chimney's mantle to grace --

And all will be right, in our living room, as long as that is the case.

No "from line," you see, makes the card just right to use another day,

And this being the way things are, there's no waste at all I say.

Which gives this card its righteous title, you can use it again you know,

Ecologically speaking, it's oh, so right, that "from line" makes it so!

Good Grief Channel 6

Well--I just thought I ought to go to my facebook account and put a post on thanking Channel 6, WJBF, for their correcting their ad feeds to their broadcast and then a commercial from that home goods store--what it is, I don't remember.  Is there a Rooms to Go? (Or "something 4 something?")  May have been them.  In any case, as I was beginning to go to facebook to thank channel 6 for their corrections of their ads (yesterday they were coming across, still, way loud compared with their regular broadcast,) precisely what I had complained about the day before yesterday, and what I had had a mini-conversation with one of their personnel on email about happened again.  Having watched their offering since 5 in the AM with good results, as soon as I go to THANK them for correcting their problem, here comes this commercial with blow your socks off volume.  Which, if you weren't paying attention, was the precise reason I complained to them in the first place.  One difference, the initial ad two days ago was from Weinburger's.  Haven't seen a Weinburger's ad today, though.

It looks like there could be someone on their staff, or the staff of whomever is providing their ad feed, who wants to cause problems for their station.  The problem they, Channel 6, have now (IF personnel sabotage is the reason) is (obviously) to find out who to fire over this.  And FIRE they should!  What is being done will eventually lose them viewers and then run off advertizers, and the subsequent revenue.  No laughing matter!

GOOD GRIEF, CHANNEL 6!  Check that commercial you broadcast at 8:27AM  today!  (I can't stand it!)

More writing, for those who would like to see or do

                        FYI (About writing--just a bit!)

Hi, my name is Stephen V. Geddes, "Steve" to my friends. This mini info page (more fully available at the link at the bottom of this blog) is to introduce two ebooks I have for sale (for 5 and 3 bucks, respectively) at Amazon.com, at: “Stephen V. Geddes, an Autobiography,” and “Autobiographical Trust: A personal workbook: everything you need to write your personal autobiography.” Both available at Amazon.com at the link.  Suffice it to say, for me, the workbook preceded the autobiography.  

Prior to these two works, I worked for an on-line newspaper, Examiner.com, and wrote fifty (more, of course, but who was counting,) articles for them as their "Augusta Environmental Examiner" before they sold their business to another company who had no need for the type of articles I had written. 

I also have written in a couple of personal blogs, “Morningbrain, what keeps me up nights...” at “ http://stephenvgeddes.blogspot.com/ ” ; And, for reasons known only to the creators of “Blogger,” a second blog “Morningbrain (Deux...)” at http://stephenvgeddes2.blogspot.com/ . 

 The two Amazon works are, of course available for sale and the blogs are free to any and all. The workbook is something I would recommend to anyone who has a family. The Autobiography is an example of what could follow from using that workbook, and the Blogs are just what they are, something I continue to enjoy doing from time to time. Thanks for your attention, and good luck.

Should you decide to write that autobiography--and your relatives and relatives-to-be will benefit immensely, no doubt, from your efforts--you really should consider that workbook. I wish some of my predecessors had written a bit about themselves. Too late for them now, though. Too late for them and their grand children, great grandchildren and all the rest. Not for mine, though, and not for yours should you choose to give them your autobiographical gift. Additional information is available at Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Stephen-V.-Geddes/e/B07F64V892?fbclid=IwAR0bkzBdAFIKm8O8JnrVHVoqH7P05K_ZwC1viZWxX9cCiSv6Ee3VGj9tSDQ

And then, there is FaceBook:  https://www.facebook.com/steve.geddes.792

That's about it (until I remember something, somewhere, or whatever else.  Which is why these things are editable.

Questions?  Send them to me at csra.environmental.examiner@gmail.com.

And, as always, thanks:  Steve Geddes

Memorial Day--What do you remember?

Well, you show me yours, then I’ll (right!--not quite what I had in mind, though.) How about you tell me your story, then I’ll tell you mine? Well, since it's me sitting on my couch with my laptop in action, guess I should reverse that. I’LL tell you MINE first: THEN you can take it! (Of course you saw that from the get-go, didn’t you!)

Mine goes something like this: Back in 1966, +/-, I found myself in that far-off oriental land that many did everything under the sun to avoid. But I? Oh, no--finding myself in the last stages of a great US government sponsored trip to Istanbul, Turkey, and having the opportunity to influence the selection process just a little bit (rrrright,) I dropped by our orderly room and picked up my “forecast” form. Thinking I might get somewhat of a bit more “favorable” treatment by going with the flow, I selected Southeast Asia as my personal preference. (We did have bases in Thailand, right? And, anyway, why fight the inevitable?)

Well--maybe my strategy went just a little bit right--maybe, if you consider the number of places I could have gone and still been in a “war zone.” Like my friend Kenny Lail who found himself somewhere--Vung Tao, maybe? Or another friend, Mike Allsbrook who was somewhere up North (North South Vietnam, that is,) Where, exactly, I really don’t know--China Beach, maybe? No, my assignment was definitely a bit easier to swallow--would you believe Saigon? Well, that was it!

And what do I want to discuss on Memorial day? Was it those Vietnamese women who took care of our Hoochs (what we called our barracks buildings) making up our beds, cleaning up after an evening of drinking by their airmen, bringing in local delights for their charges to dine on from time to time? Well, no, not exactly that. How about that 12 hour a day workday (Monday through Sunday at that?) Well, no, not exactly that, either. Or, how about that really great airman’s club? All things considered, “no way” fits the bill just fine.

What is on my mind, this Memorial day, is, for the most part, two things that brought the rest of the country into our idyllic existence. First were the helicopters. Now helicopters that were in Vietnam were really somewhat ubiquitous. Day and night we would hear them bring whatever to our little air base by the runway of our combined Airport--with us on one side, and the civilian Airport on the other. Sometime we would even see them arriving carrying relatively large bags beneath them. Interestingly, usually these bag trips coincided with times when the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) were engaged in their operations in support of their South Vietnamese allies, the Viet Cong.

The second thing I would like to mention about my time in Saigon were the flat bed trucks. Seems we would often see flat bed trucks cruising the streets of our base carrying little aluminum parcels lined up from front to back, all loaded cross-ways on the flat beds--sort of a dozen or so to the trip (no, not really a dozen--eight maybe.) The two phenomena were related, you see, since the contents of the bags and the contents of those aluminum parcels were the same material, material that was in transit from the killing fields of the country to communities all over the Untied States. That material was mainly men, and an occasional woman, who gave their all to the politics of containment being foisted on all our military personnel by politicians sitting in air conditioned offices in Washington, DC, in our good ole’ USA.

And the bags? The easiest “shipping” containers one could find to carry the bodies from the battlefield to the morgue.  And the aluminum containers? Coffins for the gallant being taken from our central morgue to aircraft for transport to the states. Couldn’t do much about those bags, but many of us would stop and salute as the flat beds rolled by.

A pretty great duty station, wouldn’t you say?

Ahhh, Memorial Day. (Now you?)

Thoughts on the amoeba

Thoughts on the amoeba

The amoeba is a primal creature, one of the smaller of creatures that we might be ultimately related to. It propagates by simple division, one creating two creatures during its propagation process. And, unless there is a problem with the division, creating a different individual during the process, both creatures will be identical. One becomes two--two become four--four become eight, etc., etc., etc!

Thus, unless problems that would tend to make new creatures out of the amoeba’s division process occur, the amoeba we might see in our microscope in microbiology class is the identical creature that began its existance eons and eons ago--making it one of the oldest creatures on this planet. And, it is those problems they might experience that could have made them the initiator of larger creatures, say two celled creatures, or four celled ones, or multicelled organisms like we ourselves. Something to consider.

So what, you say? Well, just this: Unlike the amoeba, we multicelled creatures, beginning at the point of our inception, are burdened with one issue that is not a problem for the amoeba--that issue is death. We have our begin points and our end points, like it or not. Where am I going with this? What started me off on this path, that is.

Well, just a few short 24 hours ago, I learned of my Uncle’s death--something I had not realized was something to think about, much less, something that was about to happen any time soon. My uncle Stu, my mother’s brother, who, due to someone’s typo in some form of correspondence, I lovingly called “Unkle,” passed on to his eternal existance, eternal, that is, until the resurrection promised to all believers. And, due to the lack of communication on the subject, I was caught totally unprepared. Still, I was able to make the trip to New Albany to provide whatever comfort my presence might have given to the family. Of course, I do not know how much longer my presence might be available--a fact of existence that all of us must remember and accept (what else can any of us do?)

Amy, Mark, and John, Stu’s children (quite adult, mind you) and various other family members were there. We all came together in sad remembrance. Connie, Stu’s wife, Mother of my cousins (“Auntie,” to me) was there too, of course, taking on the job she had prepared herself to do to the best of her abilities. Connie, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s several years ago, made herself remarkably, sadly, available to all in her grief. Unlike the amoeba, we must go on believing what seems to be our end is not, in effect, an endpoint, just a beginning of an intermission for us between that conception and that resurrection. Praise be to God! We, too, have the same hope eternal that our amoebic friends must possess. What else is there to say? For me there is that hope eternal that must be remembered and passed on to all who will listen. How we do this is something each of us must decide. You are reading what my decision process brought me to--the written word will last a bit longer than this old body, that much I may assure you.

So read on, my friend, but, better than that, why not try my solution to our dilemma. Start putting down your thoughts on your own existence--your personal past and your hopes for the future. Read over my thoughts in the accompanying pamphlet, “Autobiographical Trust” and begin at the beginning to write down your thoughts on the proposed questions and the questions that come to you as you work your way through the proposed exercises. No hurry here. What is needed is a commitment to do the work up to the point of the present and to return to the work periodically until you feel you are ready to proceed to the job of writing your own personal biography. Do this, and one commitment to your ancestors will be met.  

Any questions? (Sure, probably quite a few. BUT, don’t let this stop you. Your answers will come with the doing.)

Good luck. And, on behalf or our progeny, and theirs, and theirs, and, ..., well, I’m sure you get the point, let me say “thank you--thank you very much!”

Amoeba we aren’t. Eternal, though, we just might be.

SVG

5/25/2019

And now,it’s your turn: All you need are a pen and paper, or a computer and printer. Be sure to document your work, and make it as permanent as possible on paper and/or (“and” is best) on high quality thumb drives--16 gig will probably do fine--two at a minimum--one working copy and a second as a backup (very necessary.) And, of course, the pamphlet:

https://www.amazon.com/Autobiographical-Trust-personal-Everything-autobiography-ebook/dp/B01LA5IZUU/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=Stephen+V+Geddes&qid=1558721707&s=digital-text&sr=1-2-catcorr

And again, let me again say “thank you--thank you very much!”

Numeral "deux"

Blogging away, hey, hey, hey!

Got here today by way of an "author" page at Amazon.com (https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07F64V892 ) and was there to update IT!  Well, it wanted me to include a blog (if I used one,) and on trying to point out my initial "Morningbrain...," it just didn't work.  Will try to use this entry and see if that works.  In any case, the book and pamphlet on Amazon are on the verge of being published, both as Kindle editions and paperback, and I guess, having that done, I will be coming here a bit more frequently.

No new topic to discuss today except for the Aiken Carolina Bay.  It seems, sometime over the course of the last few years, this bay has become polluted.  There is an indicator organism, "duckweed" it is called, that is almost covering the bay.  This was not the case way back when, when I began writing articles for that now defunct internet news source called "Examiner.com."  One of my earlier articles was about that very Bay which, at that time, supported a bit of duckweed.  All natural bodies of water in our area probably have just a bit of the stuff, but nowhere near what is an almost a total cover of the water's surface by the little plant.  I think I'll pass this on to our "AikenStandard" and see what they have to say.  Pollution is not a good thing, especially when it is something that is degrading a City asset like Aiken's Carolina Bay.  Could be our City might borrow about three autosamplers from the County to find out which feed stream of the bay is delivering the pollutant to the bay.  Once that is done, it shouldn't be too difficult to find out who the culprit is and make the needed corrections.

That's about it, for now (except for that first blog.  To go there, try:  https://stephenvgeddes.blogspot.com/2011/09/morningbrain-first-august-2009.html .)

And, of course, thanks for your interest.

SVG

MBrain Deux, startup

MBrain Deux, startup

Well, I guess this is the only way to get back "on the air," so to speak.  It seems the gurus at Blogger have set up rules that prohibit my continuing to post on the old "Morningbrain--what keeps me up nights..." at least in a manner that the intial postings were initially defined.  And, since the whole thing about the original Morningbrain is somewhat dependent on that first post, it seems the only thing I might do is start up a subsequent blog to allow the initial blog to remain under 50 posts to maintain that desired initial post.

Well, here goes (I guess!)

I say "I guess" because I really do not have the inspiration I usually find necessary to produce a post.  That being said, please allow me to assure all it is not my intent to waste anyone's time.  Ergo, this "post" will be a "no-go!"

Later.  (And thank you for dropping in.  Next time will be a bit more useful, or so I hope.)

https://stephenvgeddes.blogspot.com/2011/09/morningbrain-first-august-2009.html


SVG
4/25/19