In handling the sesquiplane, I began to notice the general outlines and shape of the fuselage.  The fuselage was actually quite well shaped and strong in resisting the handling I gave it.  I noticed that the electric outboard motor was accurately mounted inline and slightly aimed high from it’s position on the nose.  But, I also noticed that the nosepiece of the fuselage was mounted about one sixteenth of an inch off to the right of the fuselage centerline.  I quickly realized that there was an easy fix of remounting the nosepiece by applying two layers of thin balsa wood.  The first attempt of cutting and glueing began.

I carefully cut off two thin layers of balsa wood sheet material.  It was a quick cut to shape the balsa wood to the shape of the nosepiece.  When I checked my work against the nose of the fuselage, I found that I had cut off the wrong side of the added balsa wood sheet material.  I had to cut off all of my work and begin again.  The second attempt to remount the nosepiece was a better bit of work.  I carefully shaped the new balsa wood layers to the shape of the nosepiece and cut off the correct angle of excess material.  A bit of the new balsa wood sticks out beyond the shape of the fuselage nose.  And, the centered hole in the nosepiece is adjusted a little bit in the right direction to allow the propeller shaft to spin freely.

My efforts of two days were a combined to adjust the mounting of the sesquiplane nosepiece.  I am now ready to put a final coating of dark green enamel over the nose and front of the fuselage.  Speaking of paint leads me to think of the big wooden box of paint bottles I have on the floor beside me at my desk.  I need to prepare a place for that wooden box where I can reach it easily when I need to paint something. My new desktop does have a lot of free space that should be managed better than it has been.  I do have a lot of things to rearrange on my desktop to suit what I want to store there.  A small monitor has yielded up so much more space for me to devote to other uses than just hold a giant monitor. I’m happy about that.

Meanwhile, I do have to catch up on the learning curve that it will take to work the remote controls.  I spent four months in searching for the tiny lithium battery that costs about $60.00 CDN.  It was a cat toy for Mr. T during one of his runs around the house.  I know he knew it was my toy to play with because he could smell my hands on it and it was carefully hidden under the bed where I sleep.  Four months of tearing the house apart didn’t turn up the missing battery until tonight.  I did one of my midnight cleanup sessions and found the missing battery under the bed.  I could have hung that cat up on the door, but it would have probably caused cracks in the glass.  Right.

What is a reversing servo lead?  It is a lead used to reverse a servo that activates a flap on an aileron or a rudder.  Gee, I didn’t know such until the little booklet fell open at the exact page dealing with the preceding topic.  Ah, as you can guess, there is so much more yet to pick up in my learning.

It is getting uncomfortably cold outside now.  I don’t dare venture outside without adequate clothing protecting my internal warmth.  Because of bloodthinners, I don’t have the same sort of circulation I used to have to stay warm when it gets cold.  Hey, I used to run a refer trailer up and down the eastern seaboard until it got to be too expensive.  Then I switched back to dry vans and hauled all over the place with my own rig.  Who even knows those words anymore?

I hurt when I get cold.  My muscles curl up in a grinding knot at the base of each and every connection and joint in my body.  I have to take sedatives just to release the hold of my muscles over my movements.  Otherwise I chatter and my movements show the chatters.  It isn’t a fun experience to say the least.  Thankfully I am nice and warm now.

I did have to venture out today just for a cigarette run.  I support the needs of five adults in every way from supplies to taxi service.  The big Chevy van I drive is like a brand new vehicle in every way except in cleanliness.  There isn’t time in driving to keep up with the flow of dirt in and around the windblown corners that dirt can normally pile up.  That’s funny because dust wouldn’t normally settle in or on any moving object.  Only to me, unusual stuff only happens to me.

I can’t help it.  I keep clicking off to play a fast game of Freecell.  Who even knows where to find that game anymore?  I have an icon in several convenient places and just do that.  It is the worst sort of addiction I can think of having.  It is so wasteful and time consuming.  And, it doesn’t accomplish anything except to free up a few moments of quick clicking relief.  Ah, brb, eh?

Gifted means that long days of practice have been sweated out, insight enhanced with health and prosperity, and a sort of success at one thing or another. None of the above have crossed my path except for the sweat part. I do sweat in my daily hot baths to loosen up my muscles enough to straighten my bent spine by lessening the pain enough with the soothing heat. Having a disease certainly changes your life into something else that dehumanizes you in so many ways.

Some of the medications I am on do have a way of opening up my thoughts in amazingly new ways. I was always so conventional, so black and white, and definitely paranoid with fear of some things. I couldn’t be left alone, afraid of the closed in spaces, and especially the dark. It wasn’t anything that people did to scare me, but the moments of facing the unknown, Laser lights do terrify me. So does the fear of falling. There is so much more to fear in my convoluted mind.

For decades, I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming my lungs out and sweating buckets of wet sweat. My body smelled scummy in those times, without any known cause or cure. Just as suddenly as those bouts would start, they would run for weeks, and then stop. It drove my doctors and psychiatrists crazy to try to explain what happened to me or why I was reacting as I did. Whatever it was, it was as real as I could possibly verbalize. The only question was what was it.

From my mid teens until my working career ended in 1999, I was super healthy and strong. I would walk into places where nobody dared to go themselves. Nothing people could do would scare me. But, where my fears began was far beyond normal. Most people would simply avoid me for all of the troubles I seemed to have following me. I was a fierce enough competitor that whatever scared me certainly put fear into the bravest of souls.

I didn’t go out in search of relationships. They certainly found me when I least expected. The four individuals I managed to settled down with were stable and strong in their own ways. Perhaps a decade would be enough for them to end the relationships for their own reasons. Then would come the time for me to mope and mourn in abject loneliness. I always hated being alone for any reason.

I was more capable and gifted than anyone could imagine even when isolated. I could keep myself busy to pass the time away. And, I could find my way in and around most factories. I was a skilled assembler and machine operator for more than two decades before I began a career in professional driving.

I never imagined myself in doing anything involving the complexities that went along with my jobs. There was a dumb and numb streak in me that came out as sheer stubbornness. If I was able to do something, I would be able to do that thing all day long. However, it became evident that I had trouble with physically repetitious movements. Assembly lines and dealing with numbers of people became increasingly difficult for me to manage successfully.

It wasn’t until I became an independent trucker that I was able to put my skillsets into a brilliantly shining career. I networked enough to learn what I had to expect in finding and delivering loads for a living. I travelled extensively throughout the continent in delivering freight and goods or haulage for hire. I discovered a freedom I hadn’t known before, along with ominous responsibilities.

Now I am just a broken down old fool with nothing of a future ahead of me. I still keep my fingers moving and my hands busy at different pasttimes. Afterall, my hands are literally factories that just haven’t quit yet. I still tell stories and spin my wheels because there is always a need somewhere. Believe that I have earned my attitude and strange way of lilting my speech with too simple of a vocabulary. Uhuh.

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Here it is, late at night and lost on the Internet. I have been busy at all sorts of things except for the things I really want to be doing. I want to be making brand new control rods for the Fokker DVII simply because the ones I did make are using plain wire instead of the piano wire I should be using. I am not happy with the lengths of the carbon rods I cut. And, I am not happy with how I set the control rods. So, here I sit in a fuss about all of the stuff I should be doing something about.

Motivation is not something I usually have a trouble with. After working on the sesquiplane for over a year, I am disappointed in myself for not having finished the work and moved on into playing. I suspect that there is some burnout going on just as much as it is difficult to get the real materials I should be using. I haven’t had much help in anything along the way so far and I should be happy about my accomplishment so far. I have done a fine job of the work I can show. But, my little fighter isn’t flying yet. Grump and grind. My nose isn’t any shorter than what it was.

It rained today for the first time in a while.  I can’t remember exactly when it did rain last, so it was some time ago.  We can’t all be dried up like prunes, so along comes the rain to plump us up again.  It was looking pretty grim with the drought in so many places of the globe that do need basic food and water resources. Rain and rain can go away so that I can go out to play.

I know I have seen some pretty nice storms in the last two months while driving more than 12,500 kms.  In driving so far, that has become an expected event along the way somewhere.  Storms can be so picture perfect in denoting the violence of Nature.  Everywhere we can see the peacefully patterned plodding of evolution being balanced with the immense power of chaotic destruction and violence.  It is only natural that there be a balance to be appreciated with an appropriate interaction.

Take the season of Autumn, for instance.  We do have to get out to see the glorious colours of the leaves that change before falling from the trees.  It is a season of ending, slowing down of growth, and of the many preparations that do have to be made for the oncoming cold of winter.  Where would we be if Jack Frost didn’t come announcing the frozen state of winter survival.

The changing of the seasons comes and goes in rhythmic succession.  The same could be said of the patterns of life cycles, rising and falling in response to the seasonal variances.  We are that, in a way, a genetically patterned evolution being expressed in all complexities until we run our course and become extinct like the rest of all living species.  We will have our place and time as it is for all things.  For every beginning there will be an end as we all do come to an end.  How expansive and expressive we will be in our achievements can also be determined by the complexities of our genetic patterning.

The almost guttural grunt of acknowledgement by Suzuki in recording anything for the first time in a genetic sequence is just as an accomplishment of enlightened intellectual genius as the view of the first disappearance of interdimensionally faster than light accelerated propulsion travel of an ionized object within a laser beam.  Who cares where we will go or how fast we will get there, but that we will succeed in copying the fullest extent of our patterns against the background of eternity.  We don’t even yet understand the concept of interdimensionally multiuniversal existence.  Again, who cares, beyond our own aspirations and expectations.  We do.

We do as assuredly as we can by the genetically patterned sequences within our physical existences.  We are already determined to accomplish and achieve what there is in our futures even though we may not have begun to realize it.  But, it is there, in bold living colours for all to see.  We are that which will continue or not as determined by chance circumstances of our existence.

Our star of a sun could explode.  It may have already begun to explode without our realizing it.  Will we escape the inevitable destruction or will our oceans dry up first?  Will we grasp the reins of our imaginations or will we continue to slog along in the politicoreligious mire of sociocultural evolutions we dare to concoct at length in the hopes of following our ideals.  There will be all kinds and sorts of traps along the way into our future.  Our only hope is really to unbind and unblind ourselves enough to make our way at all.

http://www.veteranstoday.com/2011/09/16/fukushima-japan-goes-to-war/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=fukushima-japan-goes-to-war

The header of the url is self-explanatory.  It is a mere conspiratist theory of how and why the circumstances of the nuclear plants came to be in the first place.  How in the world are we supposed to protect ourselves from such wildly diabolical idiocies in the first place? Could we have known in the beginning what eventually came about?

I like to write science-fiction stories.  It is my own brand of thoughts that I have come to realize as being possible, unlike the nuke attack by Japan against the USA.  Is it even possible that such an attack could take place?  I don’t honestly think that it even conceivable for anyone to think up such a dream.  But, hindsight has give power to the possibility that a conspiracy was even possible in the beginning.  Out of a burning bush we know of by a parable, comes a burning bush alight with the glow of radiation.  Ha, had we only known then what we do know now.  Then it would have been less likely that we would not have missed the boat by so much, eh?

I did take one picture of a pair of machineguns  newly painted and set to dry.  I have yet to find some material for the ammo belts that should feed the closed  breeches from the carved out ammunitions boxes.  Then the pair of painted machineguns have to be mounted on the fuselage ahead of the cockpit.

I have already painted the engine cowl a dark green.  I used a spray enamel that had to be scrapped off the outside of the outboard electric motor.  Some spray also made it’s way back to the battery box cover.  I didn’t bother to do anything about the overspray that will be covered with some sort of paint scheme anyways.

The battery box is giving me some trouble with just staying together.  I can see that more reinforcement has to be glued in to keep the battery box from breaking up with general use.  It does mean extra weight and that is another problem I face.  The weight just keeps piling on as I go from one thing to another.

It’s a bright summer day outside, but I am sitting at my desk contemplating the world of my desktop manufacturing plant.  There is a long list of things to do and it has taken me the whole morning to just clear away the mess that had built up on my desktop.  My mouth is parched dry from long hours of concentrated work at accomplishing nothing.  Who says that organization is merely mental exercise?

I did take one picture of a pair of machineguns  newly painted and set to dry.  I have yet to find some material for the ammo belts that should feed the closed  breeches from the carved out ammunitions boxes.  Then the pair of painted machineguns have to be mounted on the fuselage ahead of the cockpit.

I have already painted the engine cowl a dark green.  I used a spray enamel that had to be scrapped off the outside of the outboard electric motor.  Some spray also made it’s way back to the battery box cover.  I didn’t bother to do anything about the overspray that will be covered with some sort of paint scheme anyways.

The battery box is giving me some trouble with just staying together.  I can see that more reinforcement has to be glued in to keep the battery box from breaking up with general use.  It does mean extra weight and that is another problem I face.  The weight just keeps piling on as I go from one thing to another.

There is a real art in making the control rods.  I have been able to make a reasonable set of control rods for the sesquiplane.  There is a bit to be desired for the fit of the wires into the holes of push tabs.  I do think that I will have to break down and make another set of control rods because of the poor job I have done with the present set.  This means that I should be prepared to rip off the paper covering at some point in the future.

Meanwhile, the fuselage frame is being filed down at various places to fit around the protruding control rods.  Some of the rough work will be covered with the paper covering.  I can see my way to removing the control rods easily enough with wire cutters and needle nosed pliers.  The hard part would be replacing the control rods.  Still, I dread the thought of undertaking such a task in the first place.

I should be prepared.  I should go out and buy a new pair of actual wire cutters and the stainless steel piano wire I would be needing in the first place,  It isn’t much, but it is worth the effort should the time come to do that dirty work.  Oh, I managed to misplace the battery.  Come out, come out where ever you are!  Drat it!  The little blue battery took legs and disappeared.

I started looking into what was on my desktop.  It needed some cleaning and rearranging of the debris from previous work.  I cleaned a bit and then decided to cut some cloth into an ammo belt for the two machineguns.  Snip Snip.  Cut to measure and then a coat of rust coloured paint to simulate a strip of leather.  The real ammo belts were made of leather.  What could I use for the cartridges that were fed into the machineguns?  Scale means that I should be able to see the cartridges.  Hm.

I still haven’t found the silly little blue battery.  I should have two of those at least anyways.  I have concluded that the lost battery isn’t on my cleaned desktop.  I stuck it into a place for safe keeping.  The question is where that safe place might possibly be. For now, the battery will simply remain lost in the confusion that is my desktop.  Finding an earring doesn’t make up for the misplaced battery even if it’s cost could buy a dozen batteries.

I did use cloth for a hinge on the battery compartment door.  I added more glue to the cloth to reinforce the hold.  It is in a precarious spot right next to the exhaust vent from the engine compartment.  Air will enter the front screen and pass through the engine compartment.  I have to devise some sort of vent covers evenly for both sides.

Time has clicked by in it’s ponderous way while I have fussed and mussed through the debris in boxes on my desktop.  I have saved a lot of material in the form of bits of balsa wood in all sorts of shapes and sizes.  I might just as well have thrown out the lot but for the odd chance that I could use some of it somehow.  It is the small scraps of materials that I do use to add details to all kinds of stuff I have worked with.  I can equate my collecting to a sort of hoarding that can easily get out of control if I am not careful.

Oh, it looks like I only have an hour to spare this time.  I don’t know exactly how long I do have, only that it is shorter than usual.  We have to go somewhere on this Labour Day weekend.  It is almost funny that a holiday doesn’t necessarily mean that you can take as long as you want in doing something.  Hourray for the long weekend holiday that takes up three days instead of the regular two days.

I have thought about time travel, and I even think that I have done something to that effect according to my indistinct memories.  Let’s face it, a fifty year lapse has occurred since those events happened.  And, there is just so much that has been forgotten along the way.  All I care about is that the paradoxes were handled and that I am still alive for it.

I have done all kinds of things in my life and it doesn’t seem to stop.  I have a number of alterations done with my genetics as a result of  one thing or another.  I don’t know how many times I was collapsed on the ground or hung up in a tree.  All I do know is that I have managed to get up and keep going.  Ain’t that the way, eh?

I do remember getting sick and spending four years on my bed.  I couldn’t stand up straight or do stairs.  I lived in a room on the second floor of a rental house, and I couldn’t do the stairs.  I would crawl up or down those stairs with the help of someone, but never alone.  I was terrified of falling, and I would have too.  I spend a decade of weighing only 98 lbs of skin and bones.  I kept waking up and that was as much a surprise as it was a disappointment to me.  I would rather have stopped the pain and suffering I did endure.

I couldn’t believe that my time was not at an end.  Somehow I kept waking up and doing something.  One thing after another was what kept me busy.  There wasn’t much I could do, only that it was enough to keep me busy.  It was enough to keep me going.  Well, I am still going and it seems that there is less time for each day.  Is that even possible when time shortens gradually without notice?

I never thought that getting older was even a remote possibility.  I was at the edge of doing things that were impossible.  I was so healthy and strong that it would have scared you to just see me.  I stayed hidden somehow and in some way for most of my life.  It wasn’t easy for me to develop my conditioning and senses, but it was a necessity of survival.  I was so fearful of something that I would freak at the motion of a shadow or a sudden, unexpected noise.  I don’t know what it was, only that I was so afraid.

I remember crying for most of my childhood for one reason or another.  It was a fact that I was a sickly child, with rheumatic fever, chicken pops, mumps, colds, and allergies up the ying yang.  It’s funny, but everything went by so fast.  I would get so sick that I couldn’t believe I could live, but I did.  I would seem to blink and I was on into something else.  There was always something else.  As an adult, I was always short of time that seemed to be getting shorter by minutes every day.  I could never squeeze what I wanted out of time for a day’s worth of efforts.

I keep repeating that Life is a balance, that what comes around is what goes around.  It amazes me that the parable seems true, or is it?  Does it really balance out in the end?  Will I get some sort of reward for my efforts?  I might not be so noble, but at least I do try to be as straight up and honest as I can manage under the circumstances.

I do remember a lot of things that almost don’t make sense or even seem possible for anyone to do.  There were times when I was on the spot, doing what had to be done.  Someone had to do something and there was no one else around to do it for me.  I had to do it right up until I got so sick that I couldn’t stand up straight.  Now my bones are rotting away from the inside and I am turning into a blob of fat and muscle.  That is something else that I didn’t know was possible, but only to me.

If I had an hour to tell about me and what I would leave behind, what would I say?  Who knows when they will suddenly take leave of this world?  I never know when I will come to an end, even when I have fallen from heights, or had some sort of accident.  A rope would break, a cable would snap, or something would happen to make it all come to a stop.  But not for me.  I would wake up and shake off the waves of hurt.  Then one day it happened that there was something I couldn’t shake off.  I got sick.

Who would believe that I would be able to sit and think about my memories like a full time occupation of watching movies. my movies of my experiences.  There are so many things to think about that I never get bored.  I might get so tired that I have fallen asleep while doing things, walking, swimming, working, or anything repetitious.  I do look for patterns in things when I bother to look.

There are always patterns in everything that humanity does.  We have learned that patterns are a part of our lives just as the very genetics that force us to grow in the ways that we do.  There are patterns in everything that has genetics.  It is a fact that genetics are patterns that evolve for one reason or another and we are set to live out our lives by the patterns we have had evolve for us.  Right.

There are patterns and there are pattern breakers.  There are builders and destroyers.  There are people who live peacefully and those who do not.  I happen to be a mix of both that has come about to live out as I have done.  I couldn’t have done any differently because that is the way it is.  And, patterns don’t change until they are replaced with other patterns that do have changes in them already formed for size, weight, and all other relevant characteristics.  Patterns again.

I know I live according to patterns.  I also know when to jump to avoid certain conditions or patterns from happening.  You don’t walk on thin ice or sit in a bonfire.  There are so many things you can do that it seems hardly worth the effort to think about what you can’t do.  It is no wonder humanity would be considered a real nasty parasite to be eliminated.  We are insatiable and so resilient in most conditions.  We seem to survive almost anything once we use our brains to figure out what we do need.

We use tools and our brains.  But, that is where I can say that I am only a button pusher.  I don’t have the technologies I once had and I can’t do what I used to do by myself.  I need those technologies or I am no different than anyone else, except for the fact that I do know what to do at the right time.  It’s funny to be able to say that when I can make some of the most hilarious mistakes just at the wrong time.  It might not be anything to do with buttons or paradoxes, but it is still a serious thing to make mistakes in the first place.

You might think that I would be smart enough to know when to cross the street.  But, there have been times when I was totally unprepared for decision making or choices when those mistakes have happened to me.  I can sit still and laugh at those circumstances in hindsight with much laughter.  But, there have been times when I sweated blood to exert enough energy to do what had to be done.  I was bruised all over for a long time afterwards.  But, I did do what had to be done and that is what assures me that I did so do the right things and I am still alive for it.

Survival is in our blood just as our genetics have made us to be.  We can only follow the patterns that were made for us.  I seem to think that at one point, I did make a few alterations to something that determined just how my own patterns would turn out to be.  Maybe that is my reward for my own fate.  Maybe that is just what was done at some point in time to ensure not only my own survival, but the continued survival of others as well.

That’s something else to think about.  I was never alone.  I always had a team or a group to work with during my memories.  I was never alone then and I still can’t bear being alone now.  There is always someone within shouting range around me.  Rarely is there ever a need to have someone come to my rescue, but they are always there and waiting to be needed, watching for a danger to be neutralized.

I suppose that is only a part of a pattern, to be useful or used, as the case may be.  We are always a part of something, a group or a team.  We have to be pretty exceptional to get away from society in general.  People are so insidious that they are always there, always playing out a part in something that eventually matters to something else.  We pick up and repair patterns as we see fit to keep the balances that we live by.  We do make our own world come about as we want it to be.

My Webshots Photo Stats

59 albums
53 downloads
100,016 views

I finally made the level of one hundred thousand views in my Webshots Photo Albums!  It is amazing for me to have that many views of any photo albums that I have.  I do have some interesting photo albums about my travels and about my hobbies.  The photo album with the most views is called Balsa Planes.  The next most viewed photo album is called CAPCON modelling exhibition.  I didn’t think that there could be much importance attributed to the arrangement of photos as much as the actual content of the photos.  There are a lot of tricks to get the attention of viewers to click on and view images.  Each click could be counted and attached to other links to earn some sort of value, including money.  I suppose that there are many ways to earn value or even money on the Internet.

I have done some amazing travels in the past month.  We drove to Gagetown, NB. It was nice to camp in that area of rambling forests and distant mountains.  It was also scenic to camp in Riviere du Loup twice during our trip as a stopover to rest and enjoy the area.  We did pass through Montreal twice and enjoyed the view of that city.  Montreal is a familiar place because of our numerous visits for various reasons and is always a pleasure to see.

It is important to be rested and safe during long trips especially when you have a chance to organize the stops along the way.  It is definitely a far better way to travel than to jump on a highway for a five hour trip to Toronto.  Such short trips can be overtiring and dangerous in a lot of ways other than the usual dangers encountered along the way.

There is much to be said for camping.  There are people who live virtually permanently in travel homes and such depending upon the season or even just the weather.  Although I do have the experience of living in a camper van, I have not thought of being a resident of a travel home by choice.  I think it is far more stable to have a permanent home in one place regardless of whether it is rented or owned.  But that is merely my own opinion.