Government Shutdown

October 10, 2013 Thomas Jones

My intended destination: the Harry S Truman Dam Visitor Center

Up until yesterday, as far as I could tell, the Government Shutdown was just some story being played out in the News. Its largest impact has been in reminding me that I still don't know when to use "affect" or "effect". What are the effects of the Shutdown--how has it affected me? I feel like I'm pretty much out of the loop when it comes to the fighting that is happening in the Capital.

So yesterday I was off and I took the motorcycle out for a ride, heading north to Warsaw. I've only passed by this small waterfront town on my way to or from KC and I've always been curious about this hole in the wall.

Turns out that Warsaw is the home of the Harry S Truman lake and reservoir, which is the largest lake in our state. It's always a great feeling being on the motorcycle as you come down from a bluff-lined ridge and the view of the Lake opens up--acres of blue bisected by a simple black strip. As you cross over on the bridge, the breeze from the water is cooler than you expect, and you feel like you are standing on a mirror, with heaven and earth playing off each other.

I was heading for the Visitor Center. Several online reviews spoke highly of the great panoramic view of the lake, with its nearly 270 degree overlook, nestled on a bluff overlooking the dam. But alas, as I turned on to Harry S Truman Dr, a large barred gate stretched between the bluff, stopping me from going any further. The Government Shutdown, for me, became real.

I really wasn't too disappointed when Obama had to cancel his trip to Asia, or that the Bureau of Labor and Statistics won't be calculating the CPI for this quarter. I'm not sure if the Flu Shot is all that effective (or is that affective?--dam(n) the Government, I say!) and we won't really know since the CDC has closed its operations. But really, I drove nearly an hour to see the lake and learn about the hydroelectricity generated from this dam.

I need my Government back.

23 is a magic number

October 7, 2013 Thomas Jones

It's odd when you think about how much attention we give to multiples of five. Why are 5, 10, 20 or 25 year celebrations all that more significant than some odd number?

Your mom and I celebrated 23 years together yesterday, and we nearly let it slip by. She is so busy with school and getting her doctorate, that she has turned her laser focus onto her studies. I wasn't really expecting much, because we hope to get away sometime this Fall and celebrate.

I know this is crazy, but since we re-watched LOST this summer, I keep noticing the Numbers all of the time again. And you know that 23 is one them. So in some cooky-LOST way, this anniversary had all of the mystery and magic that I was hoping for.

Mom was able to get all of her studying done on Saturday, so we hopped in the car and went exploring the Botanical Gardens in Springfield. It was the first REAL Fall day of the year: the sky had turned brilliant blue and the temperature dropped so that we needed, I mean really needed, to wear a jacket.

We walked about the Master Garden which was beautifully in bloom. We crushed rosemary between our fingers and its strong scent stayed on my hands for the rest of the day.

It's funny how that garden is a lot like our lives: It needs constant work, different parts are beautiful at different times. Sometimes it's best to let the weeds grow, sometimes is best to trim them all back.

Kind of like LOST, too. There are times when it just doesn't make sense and it celebrates numbers that apparently have no purpose--until you look a bit deeper. 23 was as special to me this year as any year before it, mostly for its simple beauty and quiet riddle of importance.

Bike Ride to Williams Ford

October 3, 2013 Thomas Jones

I took the motorcycle for an hour long bike ride this Tuesday; my plan was to make it to Williams Ford and then to Windyville.

Williams Ford is on the Niangua River, not far from River Jim's. It's out of the way, down an old gravel road, like all great places in the Ozarks. Tree covered lanes, covered by orange gravel, barely let two cars pass one another. I love taking the motorcycle down narrow roads that meander through valleys where round bales line up waiting for a winter snow. I can't believe how beautiful the Ozarks can be. Nor how dangerous gravel roads are on a small motorcycle.

Williams Ford looking north from the low water bridge.

I took a quick turn and the bike slid out from underneath me. I have this great cherry red scar at the end of my elbow now, and I am lucky that that's all there is to it. I could have stayed home and stayed soft, but when I see you again, I'll proudly show you my scar.

Windyville is supposed to be haunted. That's the reason I took the motorcycle trip here anyway. There are a few stories on the internet, and even some of Abby's friends have come here to find troubled spirits.

Of course the real ghosts aren't in the town, but in the names of the town. "Williams Ford" and "Windyville" are the remnants, the shadows, the memories that remain of people's lives that try to speak to us today. Who was Williams and why Windy? Who were the pioneers that once worked this ground and raised families?

The scary part is that what once was so important is now gone, or remains only a vague ghost of what once was. That is the real haunting.