I have been meaning to write an essay about Trolls for a long time. The notion started rolling around in my head a few years ago, then dropped off the table of my attention for some time. It was recently reawakened when I read some of the comments on many sites and is something I think is important.

I’ve had my encounters with Internet trolls any number of times. My most recent was a Facebook cross-posting of a tweet in which the poster indicated they intended to assault the first person they saw with an (legally) openly-carried sidearm. Their declared MO would be to pepper-spray the offending individual, then do a gun grab and hold them at gunpoint awaiting the police to arrive.

I cross-posted to my FB feed the offensive tweet (which contained the poster’s Twitter handle) and made a comment about the proposal being both illegal (it’s assault to a degree of deadly force) and idiotic (it’s a great way to be shot — being a deadly force assault). I went so far as to track down the poster’s Twitter feed and read some of the traffic there as well as the feed of responses, many from gun owners.

I was appalled by what I read. Yes, appalled!

I am positive the poster had no intention of assaulting an individual who was observed openly-carrying a sidearm. I’m also confident that the poster knew they would either be shot, arrested, or perhaps both if they attempted such an action. I asked myself, then, what could possibly be the motivation for such an asinine statement?

“Troll!” was my internal response. The poster’s motivation was to stir up gun owners and those who believe in the Constitution (the 2nd Amendment in particular). There was no other purpose.

The Twitter comments and retweets were rife with vitriol (another topic for an essay) on both sides. I read through a fair number of postings, then paused to shake my head in disgust. Too many individuals I would identify with spewed venomous responses, many to a degree that was unacceptable. What I mean by that was the “try that with me and see what happens” macho bullshit.

It does not matter what side of this (or any other issue) one takes. The nature of the “discussion” was not a discussion of the points of the issue. It rapidly became a series of ad hominem attacks that serve no purpose other than to 1) hurt individuals on the other side and 2) make the poster feel better about themselves and their position. This is completely unacceptable. It is illogical (at the least), it is unethical, and it is immoral. To threaten someone’s life because of what the believe is unacceptable.

Those people who are ardent supporters of gun-rights and carry-rights have to reign it in. The “Gun-Nut” moniker can be justifiably applied to those individuals who responded to the OP’s tweet. Perhaps the respondents were being honest (I doubt it). But the responses do nothing to demonstrate that those of us who strongly support the 2nd Amendment rights are reasonable and thoughtful. Those rights are being put into danger by the very supporters who responded to the OP’s tweet. It is the wrong thing to do. I don’t care which side one takes, such responses are still the wrong thing to do.

I think that reasonable dialogue is an important part of freedom. It’s a requirement for self-governance, which is the basis for our political system (through “representation”). That we have descended to such a state that meaningful dialogue is no longer the norm but the exception speaks to me that we are in grave danger of losing our ability to self-govern.

This is unacceptable. I expect that I am in the minority. I expect that the probability that our interaction with those we disagree with will not improve, in general. I wonder what happened to the idea that we are all Americans and that it is normal for us to disagree on many topics, but that we can still treat each other with respect and kindness, even in that disagreement. I fear that we are entering (or already in) a downward cultural spiral that will not end well. I want someone to prove me wrong.

N.B. I found an excellent article on dealing with Trolls on Hacking Christianity entitled Disarming Internet Trolls. It’s worth the time to read.

I decided to buy “credentials” for the Girl as a service animal and needed an image for her badge. Plus, Wednesday was National Dog Day (so named to coincide with the dog days of summer?) and I wanted to post her image in celebration thereof.

So, I asked her to pose for me and she obliged. The shot was executed with the Fujifilm X-T1 and Fuji’s excellent 35mm f/1.4 prime. She was in a good mood and so was I, so it was an easy shoot.

I think Daughter and I are driving to Lancaster this morning for a bit of shopping and to take care of a couple of errands. Then there will be football practice and scrimmage tonight, but I think I’ll stay at the house (perhaps with Younger Grandson) and either hang with him or finish a couple of tasks that remain on my list (for far too long).

My time here is good. It’s good to spend time with this part of my family. Yeah, I’m watching too much television. Yeah, I’m not writing enough, reading enough, or working on my craft enough. I think that is part of what this time is about and I will pick up those threads again when I depart and head west later this year.

There is no official certification for service dogs. There are several companies that provide (that is, sell) badges. The only reason I elected to buy a badge is for those people who do not know the law. If my dog provides a service that I need in order to live normally (and meets the criteria in the law), and she is trained to provide that service, and she is trained to behave in public, then she is a service animal. She does all these things.

The problem is that arrogant people have learned that they can take advantage of the law to take pets into public places. Fake service dogs are usually readily identifiable. They are poorly behaved because most handlers never really train their pets. They make it more difficult for folks who have genuine service animals because of the increased scrutiny that comes from bad experience (from fake service dogs).

Although the Girl is still in her “In Training” tags, she is ready for graduation. She does what I need her to do and behaves herself in public. She is not perfect but perfection is not required. We continue to work, which is good for both of us.

As we travel, I’ve collected a number of experiences. Most businesses don’t hassle us. I am sometimes asked if she is a service dog. I sometimes get a skeptical eye. One person asked me about her and then said “You don’t look like you need a service dog.” I was not prepared for that comment, but the answer is that “It’s not always apparent and that is not an appropriate comment or question.”

The best times are when we finish our business and someone says “I didn’t even know there was a dog!” That means she’s doing her job of blending in quietly and providing me with the service that I need. That’s actually happening quite a lot and I’m proud of the Girl for being so good.

Finally, to take one last tangent in this rumination, I’m really proud of my Little Girl. She is genuinely good, loving, and a great mom. She handles herself with aplomb and grace, but is not naive. I’m blessed to call her Daughter.

The last few days were a whirlwind of intense activity. Older Son was here to help me prepare the house for sale. Then, once it listed, it sold the first day. I waited until I had some assurance the sale would be consummated before starting my move.

That was a mistake, I think. But it is what it is.

Eight years ago (and change), I left a tenured university appointment and returned to private practice. I was tired, recovering from a clinical depression, burned out, Daughter and Grandsons had just left, and the last straw was a personnel issue. It felt like it was time to move on to something else and somewhere else.

An opportunity opened and it seemed like the right thing to do. So, I moved and brought my family with me. For the first couple of years I was slammed at work, trying to get through the backlog of hydraulic projects that were left in various stages of undone by others. Yes, it took me two full years to clear that backlog. Then, in 2009, the bottom fell out of the housing market and work began to dry up with the fall of housing prices. There isn’t much need for general civil engineering (and the supporting hydraulic and hydrologic work) when the private sector is dead.

I expected to be laid off at that time, but it didn’t come. So, I kept after it, finding small projects here and there. I suppose it was enough to justify my continued engagement.

Then, four years ago, Wife became ill. About this time four years ago, she was in chemotherapy for lymphoma. My focus shifted from work to caring for her. If you follow my weblog, then you know the rest of the story. She lost that fight in January 2013.

As I worked through my grief, I picked up a little more work, but the projects were not plentiful. That process culminated in my engagement ending about three months ago. So, I elected to sell my house without knowing where I would go.

That process is nearly complete. The closing is next Friday. That will bring my tenure in western Nevada to an end. Anticipating that (and there’s no reason to doubt it now), I cleared my house and put my durable goods into storage. I put Older Son on an airplane home Saturday morning, then returned to my house to sort through my remaining things, do a test fit into my rig, and pack those things that would not fit in my rig (but that I wanted with me) and put them into storage. I finished that process about 1700 Saturday night. It being late, I elected to sleep one more night in my house, made my bed on the floor, and crashed.

I woke early Sunday morning, as usual. The Girl and I walked a short version of our regular route. Everything was wet from the showers Saturday afternoon. When we returned home, I began cooking without my familiar tools. I’m using my camping rig and things work differently. It’s all good — I’ll sort out how everything works and it will become familiar again. I ate, fed my Girl, and then took a shower. Then I gathered up my things, stowed them in my rig, and did a last walkthrough the house.

Those tasks completed, I pulled the 4Runner out of the garage and closed the door, probably for the last time. A chapter of my life ended that moment.

The Girl and I headed for Reno to have coffee with our friend Jimmy. This will not be the last time for coffee with Jimmy, God willing. Jimmy might as well be my brother. He is my brother-from-another-mother. We sat at Java Jungle, solved the world’s problems, and talked about my mobile house. I think that I’ll land in Reno again later in the summer and, if it seems appropriate, Jimmy will show me the ropes of finding a solid travel trailer that will be my home — my mobile house — going forward. This is a beginning. A new chapter of my life is beginning and I have no idea where the plot leads.

The Girl and I headed north on U.S. 395. We’re going to go see a friend in Washington. I want to spend a few days with her, work my dog under her guidance, and see a new area. We’ll be there in a few days.

Once past Susanville, California we were in new territory (for us). It was warm, but it wasn’t until mid-afternoon that I decided to put up the windows and run the A/C. I much prefer the air to the conditioning. The Girl snoozed most of the afternoon, except for the pause now and again to stop and stretch legs. I’m on no schedule, so I’m free to move at my own pace. So, that’s what I’m doing.

I decided to pause for the night in Alturas, California. This is northern California and does not deserve the PRK moniker I’m fond of using to refer to this state. It’s a big state and might as well be two, given the differences in culture. I chose Alturas partly because of the Google reviews of the Rim Rock Motel. The place is old-school motel, but it’s not run-down as I normally experience; it’s clean, kept up, and gorgeous. Rory greeted me at the desk, quoted me a (very attractive) rate, and I signed the papers.

Alturas is a beautiful little town in northern California. I think I could live here. I wonder if there is work for me here?

So, here I am. I’m in-between engagements, working part-time for myself, I’m partly retired. I’m houseless and have no plan other than the vague notion of seeing a friend, seeing my in-laws, and spending some time with Daughter and Grandsons. In the meantime, I’ll drive a bit, photograph a bit, and work a bit. This will be interesting.

How do I feel about this change? Well, there is a mixture of trepidation and excitement. So we’ll see where the path leads!

The last couple of months were crazy. I wanted to write here a number of times, but had neither the time nor the energy to assemble something cogent and appropriate for this space. I brought Older Son here a couple of weeks ago to help get my house ready to sell. I put it on the market about a week ago. I received an offer greater than my asking price with no conditions on the first day from the first viewer. Now I’m waiting for the appraisal and inspections to confirm that things are moving forward.

In the meantime, Older Son and I worked on some things inside the house, worked out, and hiked the areas nearby. I love to walk my Girl out in the sagelands. It’s one of the things I love about where I live. So, we do that a lot, usually a couple of times each day.

I called the realtor (one I know and trust) and set up a meeting. She and her Nevada broker visited my house, took a look around, confirmed their comparative analysis, and I filled out papers. After learning that they shot the images with a mobile telephone, I offered to reshoot the interior with a “real” camera. They accepted my offer.

So, I read a bit about doing the shoot, which confirmed my understanding of the problem. Older Son and I set up everything (tidied up a bit), opened the blinds, turned on lights, and made sure the Girl remained out of the frame. (As an aside, she seems to always be in my frame, whether I intend for her to be in the image or not. How does she know where I’m pointing my camera?)

I post-processed the images, which turned out fairly well. I might want to add a speedlight to the setup for my next shoot (provided I get one) to fill in some of the darker areas of the frame, but I thought the captures were professional-grade. I packed up the frames and sent them to the realtor for review and use.

They took them. The listing went into the MLS system on a Friday night. I received three or four calls Saturday morning about visitors and said “bring them on!”

The first family that walked through the house sat at my dining table and wrote an offer. Their realtor sent the information to my broker and I reviewed the offer that Sunday afternoon. Monday morning I drove down to her office and reviewed the offer with her. “There is nothing here to counter,” she told me. I signed the contract.

Now I wait for the appraisal and inspections to be done. Once that hurdle is past, then the next one will be completion of their financing. They are pre-qualified for the mortgage, so I’m not expecting any problem there.

What then? Well, I am looking at a travel trailer. If my 4Runner can pull it, then I have a small house that will shelter the Girl and me. I have plans to travel to Texas, Missouri, Washington, and Pennsylvania this summer. I have some work to do and that will provide me with a bit of income that will preserve my savings. I plan to travel a bit, spend some time in each place, work with words and cameras, read, and write.

That’s the plan. God will decide whether I make the plan or go in another direction.

So, about that video clip at the top of this entry. We’ve been out and about a lot the last couple of weeks. I’m challenging this old body to walk hard and in the hills. Saturday we walked 6-1/2 miles in the sagebrush. A couple of the hills were tough, but doable. So, Sunday morning we agreed to take a short walk over on the Silver Saddle Ranch. There is a 1-1/2 mile loop that is pleasant, not steep, and visual.

We started down the path and walked to the first break in the trail to the east. Another faint trail lead ahead to a ridgeline that looked interesting. “What do you think?” I asked Older Son. “I’m up for it.”

So we headed that way. One crest led to another and I looked for a path along the Mexican Ditch that would take us back to the 4Runner. I couldn’t see anything on the ground, so I loaded Google Maps on my phone. “We’re about 2,000 feet from Mexican Dam. Want to go there? I think there is a crossing of the ditch at that location, but I can’t remember for sure.”

“I’m up for it,” Older Son said. The Girl said nothing, but gave her approval to go anywhere. So, we stayed on the deer trail.

About 75 yards from the dam, the bank we were sidehilling steepened substantially. There seemed to be a path along the ditch and I headed for that. Unfortunately, it lead into some Desert Peach that was too thick to push through. I looked at Older Son, “It looks like we’ll have to climb.” I started up the bank, which was too steep to walk and had to be climbed. The first handhold of granite I grabbed broke apart in my hand. Everything I grabbed to stepped on disintegrated into coarse sand.

I stopped, looked back at Older Son, “This DG is treacherous. We’ll have to be careful. Or we can go back.” He just smiled back at me. It was a long way back over rough terrain. We were only a few feet from the headgate for the Mexican Ditch and an easy walk back to the 4Runner. I realized that there is a life metaphor in this experience. We had come almost three miles to this point, to find ourselves faced with a few yards of very difficult terrain. How much like life is this… the path is sufficiently challenging, but passable until one comes to a very difficult stretch. Sometimes one can see ahead to the goal, although the crossing is dangerous.

A decision is required — to go forward, to turn to look for another path, or to go back. The path back is difficult, but known. The path ahead is treacherous and getting across is uncertain. The risk of a fall and injury is real. So, what should be done?

I elected to push ahead. I began the process of testing each handhold and foothold before trusting it with my weight. All the calisthenics and walking prepared me for the push up the slope, which really was a climb and required all fours. The Girl scrambled up like a four-wheeler, negotiating the DG without difficulty. Her grace and power were apparent and beautiful. I love to watch her move.

I found a bit of a break in the slope that permitted a sidehill crossing. We were about 20-feet above the ditch. A fall would have resulted in injury and was not an option. The last ten feet or so were sheer and there would be no stopping or breakfall.

After about 20 minutes we completed the crossing and dropped down onto the path. We backtracked over the headgate to the Mexican Ditch and puttered around the Mexican Dam for half-hour or so. Then we headed back to the 4Runner to return home.

What was intended to be a short walk turned into a five-mile hike and an adventure. The life metaphor of the final few yards to Mexican Dam were not wasted on me. We walked back to the 4Runner, talking part of the way, reflecting part of the time.

When we arrived home, we were all exhausted. The cumulative effect of lots of exercise wore on all of us. We ate a bite of lunch then everyone crashed for a nap. It was a great hike and a wonderful experience.

“I honestly have no idea where to begin.”

That statement rings true on several levels. First, I have no idea where to begin telling this story. Perhaps I shouldn’t even tell it. There are people who read my weblog who will be surprised, maybe disillusioned. I don’t think that’s my role.

Second, I truly have no idea where to begin. I have been released from my professional engagement. I have few ties to this geographic location and now no professional ties. I can go anywhere I want.

Third, I do not even know where to begin the process of finding work again. I’m not even sure I want a job. Maybe the thing to do is strike out on my own and work for myself. I have no idea whether there is sufficient demand to keep me busy enough.

Life Changes… That phrase can be read at least two ways. Life changes. It does. The one thing about living is that it is dynamic, not static. Moments pass, turning into minutes, hours, days, weeks, ad infinitum. It is the way of this existence and nothing is constant.

Then again, there are life changes. These are also discrete points in time when big changes happen — I call them watershed events, because there is a crossing of a threshold, a topographic divide, from one state or place to another.

Sometimes, both events occur — as a result of a single event or closely-space multiple events.

I think I’ve been crossing a watershed for a couple of years now. Wife’s death was a huge change for me. It literally turned everything I worked for all these years upside down and left me bereft, not only of Wife but also life purpose. I was transformed from husband-provider to widow, abruptly.

Early this year, Young Son moved to his own digs. This is part of his growing-up experience and a necessary thing. It was also not optional. I knew that he needed this, whether he knew it or not. Now I can be proud of him again — he’s working, going to school, mostly providing for himself. These are good things and vital to the move to adulthood.

So, now I’m left with this house that is much bigger than I need. I am now self-employed and my current workload is insufficient to maintain my cash burn rate. I need to make some changes. I need to figure out what I’m to do and where I am do to it.

I have a lot to do. I’d better get after it.