Review: Harbor Freight Greenhouse by One Stop Gardens

This is a review of the "One Stop Gardens 10ft x 12ft Greenhouse With 4 Vents" distributed by Harbor Freight Tools. LINK HERE

Wasn't It Lovely?

I grow bonsai. As such, I need a place to store some of my trees during the Winter. After Katrina ate my Quonset-style greenhouse, I have been looking for a sturdy and nice looking greenhouse.

Do not buy this one.

I bought the greenhouse pictured from Harbor Freight Tools. Regularly $799, the kit was on sale for $599 with a coupon. To beat the coupon end date, I bought the kit on December 1, 2009. It waited until the 28th for me to assemble it over Christmas break.

The assembly instructions are sorely lacking in many details. At some points, the instructions are wrong; at others, there are gaps. The top beam of the doorway consists of 4 pieces of aluminum. Following the guide, I constructed the beam both left/right and front/back incorrectly. Calling the number on the instructions, I was redirected to another number. They sent me a dozen or so JPG files via email which saved the construction process. Even so, I had to do some divination between what the instructions were telling me and what I had available.

In retrospect, I followed the instructions correctly. Everything fits if you already know where it is supposed to go.

I made one significant modification to the instructions. I bolted the base to the ground instead of burying the base in the ground. The base is made of steel. In New Orleans, you do NOT bury steel in the ground. It will rust out in less than a year. Instead, I leveled the ground with gravel and bricks. The base sits on the bricks. On the outside of the base, I assembled a square of treated lumber. That is fastened together using deck hardware. The steel base and boards were then bolted to fence posts which had been driven two-feet into the ground. During the wind and storm, that base did not move. This greenhouse is listed at 158-pounds. Less than an average man. Given that it is 10x12x10 (LxWxH), a strong wind would have torn it's 4-inch base out of the ground and sent the entire structure sailing over my fence into my neighbor's house. Thus, my modification of the base is a better plan than as instructed.

Cold Cold Nights Of Warmth

In January, the New Orleans area suffered a severe cold snap. That's a relative term, of course. We had a week of nights with low temperatures in the mid to upper 20's. Brrrr...

With the use of a propane heater, all of my plants survived. The temperature in the greenhouse never went below 38° even when the temperature outside dropped to 24° (according to my digital Hi/Low thermometer). The tropical plants that I missed storing were all killed by the frost. Thus, the greenhouse did what it was designed to do.

That's the only positive thing I can say about the greenhouse.

A Change Of Weather and Fortune

Come late January, the New Orleans area was hit with a change of weather that brought with it winds in the 45mph+ range. The greenhouse lost both front doors and several panels. I found one in my neighbors yard after scouring the neighborhood. I lost a few of the clips that hold the panels in place, but the kit came with extras, so I was good for now.

Between then and now, the greenhouse had suffered several smaller wind storms. While I did not lose anymore panels, the doors had come off again.

Then came March 1, 2010. Another change of weather and another strong night of winds.

By the time I came home from work at 6pm, one of the doors had already come off along with two of the panels. One was in the neighbor's yard.

The greenhouse was moaning.

The winds were such that moving the fallen door into the greenhouse took a great deal of effort and courage. I was scared to be in the structure.

At 7:30pm, I heard a crash.

I turned on the lights and saw that the structure had collapsed into a tangled mess of panels, metal, and trees. The winds had died down to a moderate 20mph range by 10pm. I checked on the greenhouse to see if I could salvage any of my trees. They were overturned, but no pots or branches had been broken.

Harbor Freight Customer Service Is Not Who To Call

I contacted the number on the assembly book and told my story to the operator. He put me on hold and told me he would get the correct number to which he would transfer my call.

And he hung up on me.

I called again and while I swear he was the same person with an Indian accent, he gave a different name. This time when he put me on apologetic hold, he didn't hang up. He got me the number to the Corporate Office saying that the hours were 8-5 Eastern time.

Nope. That's Western time. I called the number and was told to call back when Customer Service was open. It's in California.

When I called Customer Service, the woman who took my information was quite snippy. Whenever I say my city name, I always offer to spell it. It has a French origin. "I KNOW how to spell your city name, sir," she said with venom in her voice. I was thinking "Well, excuse me. I was being nice. Who crapped in your Cheerios, lady?" It was the first time I've ever had someone take insult to my offer to spell my city's name. AND SHE WORKS FOR CUSTOMER SERVICE!

Unfortunately, she doesn't work for the CORRECT customer service. "Sir. We just cover the Catalog and Web Site sales. You'll need to contact the manager at the store where you bought the greenhouse." Apparently, a greenhouse that cannot stand for more than 2 months without turning into a mass of sharp broken metal isn't of concern to the company which sells it nationwide.

She told me that she did not know the wind rating on the greenhouse. I told her that I did not know it either since it was not in the assembly instructions, on the box, on their web site, or in their paper circular. Whatever it is, it has to be below 45mph winds. That's what bruised it in January and killed it in March.

Anyone know the number to the correct Federal agency I should contact regarding unsafe consumer products?

Back To The Scene Of The Purchase

The people at the local Harbor Freight Tools were much more receptive to my complaint. I told the store manager that the corporate office said he should know what to do with my information. "I'm glad they say that I should know what to do with this," he said with a smile.

He took the photos I printed and made a copy of my original sales receipt. He then took my name address and phone number and said that someone will be contacting me soon.

Concluding Remarks

This is what happened. It's all true. This is my review of the product and the process. Your experience may be different. The aerodynamics of your site may allow this greenhouse to sit pretty for years to come. Mine lasted from December 29 to March 1.

I still enjoy shopping at Harbor Freight Tools. I'm looking forward to buying more tools from their store. Nice people (except for one snippy Californian). I just want the world to know that I give this greenhouse my rating of "Do Not Buy". Unless you can guarantee that it will not be hit with winds greater than 25mph, you'll need to think long and hard about this purchase.

For a point of reference, my pre-Katrina Quonset-style greenhouse was made of wood frames in the front and back with 3/4-inch PVC irrigation pipes making up the spine. I cover it with shade cloth and clear 6-mil visqueen. During strong storms the greenhouse flexes in the strongest gusts and returns to its original shape. I'll be building another one in late September (ahead of the November chill). I'll post the building progress at that time.

In the mean time, I'm going to sit back and wait to hear what the store has to say about my experience.

Post Op

Tuesday, the day after the storm, I got the latest mailer from Harbor Freight Tools. My wife jokes, "See if they have another greenhouse for you." I unfolded the ad and there it was on the front page. $200 off the regular price with the coupon. Same photo. Same product code.

$600 (plus tax) is a hard price to pay for something that works, but does not last.

Crunch Time!

Smoke'em If You've Got'em

This is it. The last shopping weekend before Christmas. One last trip to the bank for the holiday season. It's too late to make nice things for everyone on your list. You'll have to buy what you need, now.

That creation in the photo? Someone in the office thought it'd be nice to take some of their hothouse hibiscus flowers and adorn the mini Christmas tree on their desk. Perhaps we put too much rum in the egg nog.

Don't Play With Fire

Grande Mocha Latte With Emotional Blackmail

As a rule, I don't tip for counter service. Why should I? The service won't improve if I tip. The correctness of my order won't change if I tip. And given the fact that I'm not a student here, my grades won't change if I tip.

I specifically said "No whipped cream" and then they put it on anyway. I reminded them of this and they had to make me a new one. If I had tipped, would I have been able to retrieve my money from the tip jar? I'd have felt like a fool for tipping for the wrong coffee.

As a rule, college students are an emotional bunch. Finals is a time of great stress. I recall being in the throes of temporary bipolar disorder when each final would take place and the cramming began for the next one. If someone had caught me at the right time, I'm sure I'd have put more money in the tip jar than I spent on the coffee.

Putting this note on a tip jar on a university campus is wrong wrong wrong. Just because your job sucks and your pay sucks there's no reason to sink to emotional extortion on your patrons.

Keeping The Kids Amused

Maybe he doesn't want to be found

My artist sketch lasted 3 weeks before someone tore it down. I don't think these people want their cat back.

The kids got a hoot out of this. Well, after I got the condescending glare from the oldest ones, of course. Then they made sure I took a photo of it.

So here's my critique of the sign:

1) Does the cat have a name? I might be able to get it if I called it by name. "Here, Puss Puss" might not cut it.
2) Boy cat or girl cat? Again, might not matter. However, if I'm to determine the eye colors of the cat, I'd have to be face to face with it. Then we're back to the name issue. I did see a white cat last week, but I couldn't get close enough to see the eyes. It ran away and I could see that it was a boy, but the sign doesn't specify beyond bi-color and white.
3) Do they want the cat back? According to the sign, they only want reports of sightings.
4) What's in it for me? I'm allergic to cats. They dig up my garden and knock over my bonsai pots. When my dogs chase cats out of the yard, they're knocking over the larger pots and making general chaos. So, if I'm to care about your cat, and right now I don't, how are you going to make me care? The sign does nothing to motivate me to do anything other than drawing a stupid rebus.

Given the lack of effort on the part of the sign poster (cheap sign, bad proof-reading, few details, no motivation), I think this cat woke up one morning to the sound of can openers in other homes. This cat realized that it had been staying with the wrong people. "These idiots haven't even given me a name," it muttered to itself. It struck out on its own and occasionally catches glimpses of it's former housemates from further and further away.

Would I report this cat if I could determine for certain that it was the cat from 2 doors down? No. I think perhaps this cat has chosen a better life. Who am I to interfere?

This Date In History

I Didn't Kill James Carville Today

Not that I would have. But there he was, crossing Palmer as I turned off of Marquette. I said to myself "Hey! That can't be James Carville. Can it?" Then I said to myself "Who the hell else looks like that?"

He stopped when he saw me rounding the corner. My Honda Pilot does not pose a formidable threat, but as much as I didn't want to spend the day talking to the police and getting congratulatory calls from local conservative radio talk shows, I'm sure he didn't want to spend the day in a hospital bed. After all, he still had his coffee in his hand. Never interrupt someone in the middle of their coffee with an SUV. That's just good manners.


John F. Kennedy Is Finally Dead

For 45 birthdays I've been looking forward to my happy day with a reminder of who was shot and killed the very day before I was born. Mom would ask, "What do you want for your birthday, Billy?" And I would think to myself "To stop seeing the Zapruder film every year for my birthday." Well, this year, for my 46th birthday, I finally got my wish. Granted, I didn't watch much news, but I've tried that before. Something always slips through. This year I catch a break. I didn't catch wind of a single word associating my birthday with a bullet in the head.


UPDATE: James Carville Scares Me Into Locking My Doors

Security people were in the neighborhood when I got off work tonight. Cars were backed up to St. Charles Avenue. A big formal party was taking place at one of the huge homes near my work. Thus, I was paying more attention to the formal dinner than I was to my surroundings as I unlocked and entered my vehicle. It was only when I got into the front seat that I noticed someone was walking by. I quickly closed my door and locked it. It was James Carville. He was coming back from a jog. He passed me by, trotted across the street, bypassed the front porch and went around back. I guess he didn't want to be in his jogging clothes and run into Governor Bobby Jindal who was standing on his front porch. (At least it LOOKED like Bobby Jindal. It was dark. I had my camera out, but couldn't squeeze off a shot in the low light.)

Don't go looking for shots of James Carville here. I'm not stalking him. I just park in his neighborhood.

Saints And Sinners

Down And Dirty In The Big Easy

God bless those New Orleans Saints. They've pulled off a 7-0 start for only the second time in their history. I've been a Saints fan for as long as there have been Saints. Somehow the stars have aligned and we're watching one of the best teams ever to play the sport.

And they're all ours!

(and now for something completely different)

"Dear God, Please Get Me Out Of Here!"

During the school year, the stars rarely align for my family when it comes to scheduling. Sunday was no different.

I decided that a beautiful Sunday morning is a wonderful chance to tear down and rebuild a fence. Indeed it was. However, as my father once told me "Projects are always more complicated than they seem; are more expensive than you expect; and take longer than you hoped." Each of my home projects seem to fall in line with that simple expectation.

The wife took the youngest off to church while the older hellions slept off Saturday night. I took crowbar to board and uncovered one setback after another; crooked posts, rotten wood, and sub-standard construction are all hallmarks of any project completed by the previous homeowner. This was no exception.

After working all day on removing the old fence and acquiring the supplies to build the new one, 5pm was creeping up on me fast. The last church mass of the day would see me packing up my tools and looking at 7 original fence posts without a single piece of new work upon them. What made me think I could do this in one day?

Mrs. Bayou's prior commitment to the local school's fund-raiser had her out of the house at this time and our youngest could not be left home alone. I told her so. "BUT I ALREADY WENT TO CHURCH! I DON'T HAVE TO GO AGAIN! I'M NOT GOING!" was her thundering reply. The oldest kids smirked and headed off to church on their own. I'm not sure if they were behaving properly or jumping ship. Kicking and screaming, I threw the little monster into the car and we made it to church on time.

5 minutes into mass and an angel appeared. Mom had stopped by the church on her way home and picked up The Sulking One. I would later find out that while she did not want to go to church, she was a firm believer in prayer. "Mom, I knew you would come," my wife said, retelling what she heard. "I was in church praying to God. 'Dear God, please get me out of here,' and you came!"

I'm learning things about the youngest kids in wide age-span families: They quickly learn how to work the system. Apparently, this one has learned how to work God.

What The Hell Happened?

I just don't understand women...

(You may need to read my last blog if you're not up to speed. Yes. That's my face.)

So we got home around 9:30pm last night. I grabbed a couple bottles beer and headed off to the bedroom to turn on ESPN and await my wife. Somewhere around 1am I must have dozed off. The next thing I know I hear a deafening roar and I'm being hit with what appeared to be a fist wrapped with a lace teddy. Where'd I go wrong?

Welcome Home Mrs. Bayou!

Oh what a night...

My wife will be returning from San Francisco this evening. I can't wait.

The dishwasher is full and the sink is too. Having run out of clean dishes, the kids and I have filled the kitchen trash can with fast-food bags and pizza boxes. It's so full I've had to tie down the lid to keep the dogs from getting into it. The poor dogs have run out of food, but it's okay because they ate the leftover pizza. The laundry situation is at a breaking point. If my wife wasn't coming home tonight, I'm sure we'd be sniffing through our dirties searching out the least offensive smells. So yes(!), we'll all have clean clothes tomorrow.

On Monday, I contacted my kids' teachers to let them know of my situation. They were all understanding. They've agreed to let my girls bring in their homework tomorrow. That'll give my wife tonight to help them finish it up. She's always saying things like "I have to help them with their homework every night because they just know how much I love doing it for them!"

As a bonus, I found out on Monday that two of my kids have arts and crafts projects due tomorrow (Friday). I told them not to lose the supplies list (I'm sure they didn't) and to give the lists to Mom at the airport. Her flight comes in at 8:32pm and the craft store closes at 9pm. That should be enough time for her to run in and get whatever supplies they need to do the class projects.

My wife has been calling me from San Francisco all week telling me how busy she's been, going from one seminar to the next. Even the meals are business related; Business Breakfast, Business Lunch, Business Dinner. The poor dear has been suffering at night as well. Her room is over the street and she says that all she hears all night is horns blaring and the doorman whistling for cabs. This morning (flight day!), she called to say that the hotel was out of hot water at 6am. She's been shivering all morning and she's exhausted from lack of sleep. She's looking forward to sleeping on the flight. I figure the best thing for her will be to get home and get back into her rhythm with the kids and the house.

So tonight I'll pick up some flowers at WalMart on the way to the airport, I'll give her a big kiss when I see her, and I'll hurry her home (after stopping at the craft store, of course). And when the homework is done, class projects all glued and painted, and the hum of laundry and dishwashing machines permeates the house, she'll come to bed (I remembered to dust off the cookie crumbs from last night) to find me waiting there with her final present of the night: a lace teddy I bought for her at the mall. This will be a night to remember.

Shhhhh... Daddy's Sleeping

I Need A Recharge

Mrs. Bayou has gone to San Francisco for the week. The only thing keeping me from going with her is the kids. Then again, if the youngest wasn't so young, I'd probably leave them all here alone and go to Tennessee. Alone.

In a previous blog, I commented on the problems I face with the people around me coming up with Great Ideas. In a nutshell, all their Great Ideas involve ME doing the task. Mrs. Bayou has caught on to my phraseology and gives me the stink-eye when handing out tasks where I reply "Yep. That's a Great Idea." (Yes, sometimes I talk in italics)

I thought I was making progress in this area. I've learned to quickly recognize Great Ideas, and I've been telling people around me "You've got to be kidding," and walking away quickly. "But Bill! Where are you going? It's a Great Idea!" (No, they never speak in italics, but my brain readily does the font change)

My time was freeing up right and left (time to sleep, mostly). Then Mrs. Bayou comes in with her announcement that not only is she freeing herself to go to San Francisco (she says she's going there on business, but I know it's to get away for a week), but she's got a freakin' Ghant chart of a schedule for me to accomplish while she's gone. Bam! One page broken down by dates and times is thrust upon me like a Turd Sundae with a glossy topping of "Your Family Comes First" Guilt-Trip drizzled all over it.

If I thought the dreaded phrase was "Bill, I have a great idea. Could you..." I was wrong. The devil is truly in the details. Buried within the instructions of moving children around to and from before-and-after-school activities, dance and music lessons, photography appointments, and airport taxi driving is a phrase which turns my stomach into a dyspepsia-themed amusement park: "You should just have enough time to..."

I shuddered when I wrote that. It's worth repeating: "You should just have enough time to..."

(And there's my lunch coming up the back of my throat. Ugh.)

It's not just a list of Great Ideas, its a list of Great Ideas that can only be accomplished if I rush from point to point like a pinball. The intersections around the city are no longer photo-controlled traffic-lights, but blinking bumpers on a map-themed game table. Sirens and horns have replaced bells and whistles; blaring out at me as I strive to accomplish the list of Great Ideas. Pre-recorded phrases pipe through the speakers of my life announcing "Dad! We're gonna be late!" "You've missed our turn!" "I can't find my shoes" and "Do you know how fast you were going, Mr. Bayou?"

I carry the Ghant chart with me at all times. I've studied it in an attempt to divine it's secrets, but every time I glance at it I see something new. If I get pulled over by the police, I'm going to show it to the officer. "Look!" I'll say, "She left me a 'To Do' list!" However, with the way things are going lately, it'll be a male cop, unable to quickly decipher my task list of Great Ideas, and he'll start clawing his eyes out. Somehow that'll be my fault, but I'll at least I'll skip the ticket and be quickly on my way to the next item on the list.

It's GO Time!

I want to wrestle too!

I've been on this exercise kick ever since my doctor told me I have a "fatty liver." Apparently, when I die, my wife can make a nice liver pate and serve it at my funeral. "Mmmm... Who knew Bill was such a good man?"

I'm down 15-20 pounds by taking the stairs and working out as much as 5 times a week. I strongly recommend the Muscle & Strength web site (LINK HERE). I've been using free weights, 3 days a week, since July. Which brings me to Sunday afternoon.

I'm sitting on the sofa watching nothing in particular on TV and listening to the rain fall. My wife comes over and sits on my lap and snuggles up. After a minute or two of this, I decide to see if the weight training has been working, so I pick her up in my arms, carry her to the bedroom, and gently lay her down on the bed. This weight training thing is paying off! I snuggle into bed next to my wife...

AND MY SIX-YEAR-OLD JUMPS INTO THE BED!

"Whoo-hoo! I want to wrestle too!" she cries out.

"So does your father," my wife adds smiling.

The next thing I know the three of us are playing "Pin the Daddy" and I end up with my head hanging off the bed. Stupid One and Supid Two, my two standard poodles show up and Stupid One begins giving my face a tongue bath. My wife is shrieking with laughter and disgust at this development and my daughter is laughing with glee.

"Not the afternoon I was thinking of," I told my wife.

"The afternoon you were thinking of is the reason we have these kids," she reminds me.

Oh well. At least I have my health.

What's it to you?

Set Attitude to "Sass"

What is it with my kids? I know it's not unique, but they've developed a knack for turning everything into an argument.

I remember standing up to my Dad, once. Once. It was the first time I ever heard my conscience screaming. Normally, my conscience is there offering good advice. Once upon a time, it was in there covering its ass.

My father found me just out back and called me to the door. "Son, why haven't you taken out the trash?" Or cut the grass, or cleaned my room. I don't know what he was complaining about. All I know is, my conscience was taking a coffee break. My mouth was on its own.

Why didn't I do my chores? I have no clue. Maybe I was too busy coming up with another reason to get suspended from school. Maybe I was in the middle of planning my next pyrotechnical exhibition. Whatever the reason, I was 15 and decided that my father wasn't the boss of me. He wasn't a bad father. Quite the opposite. He was a great father. I, however, had the temerity to assert my independence from chores. I don't know what I said, but I'm sure it was along the lines of "Do it yourself."

It was a proud moment, but that was all it was. I was standing there in the doorway gaining an extra inch by standing on the door sill. I was engaged in a foolish bit of sass and my conscience was off buying an order of beignets to go with its cafe au lait.

In an instant, my father's fist lashed out and embedded itself in the wall next to the door. I turned to my left and there it was. Well, there it wasn't. All I saw was a big hairy Irish wrist and drywall.

The coffee break was over. My conscience was back at work and wondering just what the mouth had gone and done in its absence. No longer the gentle adviser, my conscience began screaming "SHUT UP! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! SHUT UP NOW!" My mouth was in full agreement.

And now I have the kids I was. They're all full of themselves and I'm checking the walls with a stud-finder. When discussing things with teenagers, you never want to break your fist for lack of knowing where the walls studs are located.

How's that work again?

Shoot!

I just received one of those personality tests in my email. It advised me to keep an open mind by using the old standard "Minds are like parachutes. They only work when they are open." The personality test took many things for granted and got everything wrong. So much for opening my mind. Now I want to try slapping the side of my head to see if I can get out all the crap that fell into my mind when it was open.

I don't think that parachutes only work when they open. They certainly have a function when they're open, but they also have a function when they're closed. Try exiting a plane with an open parachute. No. Not really. It'll kill you. Your reserve 'chute will kill you too if you open it when your primary is functioning perfectly.

I'm all for opening your mind to new things. However, once you realize what someone is trying to put in there, you may want to quickly close it up.

I need to go attenuate my tin-foil hat.

Shelter From The Storm

I'd Rather Have The Tree

Katrina took many things from us. One of which must have been the tree that stood here for oh so many years. Never you mind. There are other ways to stay out of the sun.

How this goose got that umbrella to open without opposable thumbs, must have been surely entertaining.

You go, Mother Goose!

THIS IS A BLOG ENTRY!

WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME!!

PEOPLE WHO WORK IN GYMS ARE AN ENERGETIC LOT!! THEY ARE EASILY EXCITABLE!!! IT DOESN'T TAKE MUCH TO GET THEM TO HELP YOU! THEY REALLY WANT YOU TO ENJOY YOUR WORKOUT!!! THE EXERCISE MACHINES HAVE HEADPHONE JACKS THAT LET YOU LISTEN TO THE TELEVISIONS!! AS YOU CAN SEE, IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR OWN, YOU CAN BUY THEM!!!

BUY SOME HEADPHONES!!! I SAID "BUY SOME HEADPHONES!!!" WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME!!

IF THE CLIPART PEOPLE DIDN'T ALREADY HAVE HEADPHONES ON THEIR HEADS, THIS NOTE WOULDN'T NEED TO BE SO LOUD!!! BUT THEN AGAIN, THEY'VE ALREADY GOT HEADPHONES!!!

AND A SURPLUS OF EXCLAMATION MARKS TO SUPPLY ALL YOUR LOUD NOTE NEEDS!!!

What Are You Thinking?

Kiss Your Teachers

I don't mean to be snobbish. I know that it takes people from all walks of life to make this society work. In these trying economic times, just having a job can be everything. God bless those of us who put themselves into danger or just dirt every day to earn a living.

However.

If your job involves riding at the top of a stack of cinder blocks at 35mph higher than the walls of a construction vehicle, you're not in the right line of work. You never know when some idiot in an SUV is driving distracted behind you holding up an SLR camera in front of his face to discretely take your picture just before slamming into your truck at every one of those thirty five miles per hour.

I'm going home to kiss my diploma and polish my SLR.

If you've got a job where people are not likely to use your image as a "Don't Let This Be You" cautionary tale, thank a teacher today.

More Duck, Please

Nycticorax nycticorax

I happened upon a scene in Audubon Park. A man was feeding bread to the ducks, geese and fish. It wasn't much different than anyone else doing the same, except for the fellow pictured here. He's a Black-Crowned Night Heron. My wife calls it an evil bird, but more on that in a moment.

What caught my attention was the attention this bird was giving to the bread on the water. The man told me the bird was waiting to catch a fish. The fish were swimming about eating the bread left by the ducks. Sure enough, after a minute, the bird lunged forward, snatched up a fish. I thought the event was interesting enough that I brought the family to the park on the following day.

We traversed the park in search of the bird, and finally found him not too far off from where I'd seen him last. Unfortunately, the geese were exceedingly obnoxious and I couldn't get the bird to repeat the trick. The geese soon ran him off and we left as well. We didn't see where the bird had flown.

Oh well, nature never repeats a good trick on its own. Sometimes it's funnier.

Some hundred yards down, we found a mother duck and two ducklings swimming about. The kids were happy enough to feed the babies and they made such sweet "Peep Peep" noises. Just another duck feeding?

Another family came down to the waters edge; a mother and her twin daughters. The mother sees the babies and says to her toddler girls "Look, girls! She's got twins. Just like you." And soon we were all feeding the happy family.

Without warning, the heron leaped out of its hiding place in the elephant ears at the waters edge. The bird snatched up one of the ducklings from the surface of the water and quickly flew off; little baby duck crying out "Peep peep peep..." into the distance.

A look of horror fell upon the mother of two as she hustled her girls away from the scene. My wife and children were outraged yelling at the fleeing predator while mama duck cried out for her missing duckling.

I fell out laughing. The irony of the situation had hit me quickly:
1) We came to see a predator bird. Well, we found it. It performed above expectations.
2) Cold smelly slimy fish are okay for birds to eat. Cute duckies are not. We came to the park hoping to say "Cool! The bird ate a fish," when what we got was "Holy Crap! That bird ate a baby duck!"
3) Never create an emotional bond between your twin daughters and vulnerable baby duckies in the wild. That, and always hustle your children away from the strange man who laughs hysterically when baby ducks are being eaten.

Traffic Horn Blues

I think car horns should be tuned to shift chords through a standard 12 bar blues chord sequence. Then use something like Bluetooth pairing so that traffic would have a more gritty bluesy feel to it.

I'm stuck in this traffic,"
*Bah-...DA-da-DA-dum*
"Ain't goin' no where,"
*Bah-DA-da-DA-dum*
"My wife's home in bed,"
*Bah-DA-da-DA-dum*
"And Lord I wish I was there!"
(harmonica) *WHAAAA-WA-WA-WHAAAA*
"I got those Traffic Horn Blues...."
(blues music)
"Those dirty down horny Traffic Horn Blues..."

One Wifey, Two Wifey, Three Wifey, Jail

Because 2 Is An Option?

I'm a firm believer in the sanctity of marriage. Then again, I have a wonderful wife. That kind of makes it easy.

Beyond all the "To have and to hold" vows, I have to admit that there is another reason I won't ever move on to "Wifey 2": I really don't need any more women in my life telling me to take out the trash.

She's a talented computer professional. The other night she came home late with the excuse that something had crashed and she had to get it up and running before she could come home.

"Did you try nagging it until it worked?" You'd better smile when you say that, and I did.

"No. My computer programs don't need nagging. They do what I tell them to do, when I tell them to do it, and how I tell them to do it. Unlike other things in my life."

She's a dream. I couldn't ever leave her. Love you, Babe!

Just a tease...

Freedom! Oh, wait...

Every now and then I like to go to the window and dream of running in the fields. I dream of the sun warming me as I lay out enjoying a cool breeze. I see kites flying overhead. I hear the ice shifting in the chest as it melts and I'm reminded to reach in and grab a cold beer. Oh! And sausages grilling over coals. The fat dripping out and catching fire just long enough to give the sausages a good smoky flavor. My toes are scrunching the grass. My wife is sitting in the shade of an umbrella. The kids are running around with the dogs. The sausages are almost done and I haven't even made a dent in my supply of beer. The radio is playing Pink Floyd and I reach over to turn up the music...

Then the damn phone rings and I'm back in the real world.

Nothing to see here, move along.

Good Community Relations

If I were driving down Airline Highway, er um, Airline Drive with an unsecured load of crap in the back of my truck, I'd want to be as pleasant to the local constabulary as possible. However, with the sticks and such flying out the back of this guys littermobile, I'm sure he'll get to say "Hi Officer" face to face.