Hello, I’m Veronica
The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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Of Rings and Romans
Eggs are a favorite food of mine. A breakfast plate is hardly complete without a couple of the fried, scrambled, or omelette-d variety. They’re delicious for lunch in an egg salad sandwich, or for dinner in a chef’s salad or a quiche. Don’t forget deviled eggs for a tempting appetizer. Nothing’s unusual about these egg-zamples, but here’s where it gets borderline obsessive. Earlier this week I imagined two sunny-side-up eggs placed flat-side to flat-side (don’t ask me why; I just did). What do you get when you do that? SATURN!
Perhaps you missed it on Tuesday, but the planet Saturn made a pageant-worthy appearance in our night sky. Saturn “came to opposition” (sounds political), meaning Earth made its annual passage directly between the ringed world and the sun; at precisely 11am Colorado Time. Saturn was closest to Earth at that very moment. Ten hours hence, when Colorado’s sky was dark enough for stars and such, Saturn was already well above the horizon to the southeast. At least I think it was Saturn. Without a telescope, I channeled my most amateur inner-astronomer using handheld binoculars. All I got was a shaky image of a bright, white pinprick in an otherwise fabric of black. But I must say, it was a pretty big pinprick.
Saturn is certainly the most distinctive of the eight planets in our solar system (take that Pluto, you dwarf-pretender you). Stage a planet beauty pageant and Saturn would simply flaunt her colorful rings to win ten out of ten times. The distant runner-up, Mercury, would get a few sympathy votes for her steadfast “cool under fire”. Mars would get no votes for her perpetual look of embarrassment. Earth would be disqualified for serving as pageant host. It’s Saturn with the sash every time.
There’s more to this heavenly body than meets the naked eye (WHOA; that may be the most risqué sentence I’ve ever written). Saturn is a big ball of gas – hydrogen, helium – and less dense than water, which means if you threw her in the pool, she’d bob around like a big ol’ beach ball. She completes a full rotation in ten hours; so fast in fact, her equator bulges enough to make her look like a flattened ball (not very becoming of you, Saturn). Her glorious rings are circular masses of ice crystals, over sixty feet thick. Her surface temperature is -300 degrees Fahrenheit, a reward for sitting sixth place from the sun.All of which paints a not-so-rosy picture (but at least there are rings around the not-so-rosy – ha!). If you could travel to Saturn (no spacecraft headed that way anytime soon), could stand on her surface (you can’t), and could withstand her “balmy” temps (one helluva spacesuit there), you’d still fly off into space on account of that zippy rotational speed and global shortage of gravity. You’d probably splat into her pristine rings like a useless little bug. Ick.

Saturn Saturn gets her name from the Roman god – not goddess – of agriculture and time. Which begs the question, why am I calling him a her? (Crud, I have to start this blog all over again.) Even better, Saturn was also the god of wealth (now we’re talking). In ancient Rome, the Temple of Saturn housed the town treasury. And this same Roman god is why we call the first day of the weekend Satur(n)day (you’re welcome for that). So, let’s review. One of eight planets is named after you. One of seven days is also named after you. You must be one important dude.
And yet, Saturn (the planet or the god – you pick) doesn’t get much love in Earthly culture. I scoured the web for references (okay; no I didn’t – I just looked up “Saturn” on Wikipedia), and all I came up with was a) a Sega video-game console, b) a discontinued brand of automobiles, c) a rocket booster (just the booster, not the rocket itself), and the annual trophies presented by the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror Films. Oh yeah, and a small, unincorporated community in Whitley County, Indiana. Oh yeah again, and one of the primary characters in the “The Three Investigators” children’s books. Er, wait, that was Jupiter Jones. Dang it!
Even if Earthly culture dresses down her sexy rings (again with the risqué), I still say Saturn wins the pageant (only now it’s a male pageant and that doesn’t work for me). If you’re not convinced “he’d” win, consider this last fact. Saturn has sixty-two moons. Sixty-two! Maybe Earth’s moon should head on out and join the party. Can you imagine the night sky if you lived on Saturn? The fabric would be loaded with pinpricks (including Titan, the second-largest moon in the entire solar system). Moons, rings, Roman Gods, weekend days; what’s not to like? As I said, it’s Saturn with the sash every time. Now stop playing with your breakfast and get back to work.Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”, and the Universe Today article, “Ten Interesting Facts about Saturn”.
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The Fourth on the Fence
America’s Independence Day celebrations go full-on patriotic today, including a plethora of centuries-old traditions. Barbecues and fireworks. Downtown parades with marching bands. Baseball, apple pie, and ice cream. Flags, and countless costumes of red, white, and blue. Another round of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest. These are the images consistent with America’s 243rd birthday party. But tennis shoes and tanks? Nope; not what I had in mind.

Photo by Nike I’m referring to recent headlines, of course. Nike – in an obvious nod to Independence Day – produced a limited-edition running shoe with the “Betsy Ross” on the heels (the version of the American Flag with a circle of thirteen stars on the field of blue). The shoe would’ve made it to hundreds of feet were it not for concerns voiced by activist (and Nike spokesperson) Colin Kaepernick. In response, Nike immediately recalled the shoe. In response to that, the state of Arizona withdrew financial incentives for the construction of Nike’s latest manufacturing plant. In response to that, the state of New Mexico created a political fence at the NM/AZ border, inviting Nike to “come on over”. “Betsy Ross” instantly became a hot topic on Twitter.

Photo by Andrew Harnik – AP As for the tanks, President Trump requested “reinforcements” for the “Salute to America” parade and flyover in Washington D.C. In a nod to the U.S. Armed Forces, parade-goers will enjoy a convoy of loud-and-proud servicemen and women and their vehicles. I can’t think of anything more patriotic: a fortified Independence Day parade in our nation’s capital hosted by the leader of the free world. But like the Betsy Ross shoes, we have controversy. D.C. locals are worried about tank-track damage to city streets and bridges. More predictably, the progressive left sees President Trump’s actions (and Salute speech) as an inappropriate opportunity for political gain. In response to that, there will be protestors and flag-burners galore.
My Independence Day childhood memories have nothing to do with flag-burning, let alone tennis shoes and tanks. Our family would trek to the beach in Southern California full of pride and patriotism. We’d spread blankets on the sand at dusk alongside thousands of others, with a couple of buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. My brothers and I would run around in circles with sparklers. When it got dark enough we’d enjoy the fireworks erupting from a nearby pier.
As a teenage boy – and budding pyrotechnic – Independence Day was all about the fireworks. My dad would purchase a large “Red Devil” assortment and we’d set them off on the beach. My favorites included “black snakes”, “ground-spinners”, and “fountains”. (Alas, I never experienced the machine-gunner thrill of hoisting a Roman Candle.)
When my own children were young, I delighted in our local (and thoroughly hokey) Independence Day parade. Our supermarket participated with a group of dancing, shopping-cart-wielding cashiers. Our dentist shamelessly advertised on a float with a giant toothbrush. But our son carried the flag as a Boy Scout and our daughter rode her pony as part of an equestrian team. Later in the evening we’d gather at the shore of the nearby lake to watch the fireworks display, fully funded by donations to the local fire department. Small-town America at its best.Like any other living, breathing American, I have my opinions on the tennis shoes and tanks. I don’t think Nike intended to dredge up Revolutionary War-era civil liberties simply by displaying the Betsy Ross on its products. I don’t think President Trump did anything more than exercise the privilege of the office by serving as host of our nation’s capital’s celebration. In both cases, I think digging for dirt below the surface only makes things dirtier. I’d wear the shoes or attend the Washington D.C. bash without an iota of self-consciousness. I’d simply be an American celebrating our Independence Day.
Nike defended its shoe recall by claiming it’s “proud of its American heritage”, but worried the Betsy Ross would “unintentionally offend and detract from the nation’s patriotic holiday”. President Trump’s advocates said he’s “… not afraid to buck convention and put his own twist on these types of events”. How about we get off the fence, take a step back, and remember what we’re celebrating? America’s birthday deserves more than focus on yesterday’s regrettable events or today’s relentless politics. Perhaps – just for a day – we could be the “United States” of America once again.
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Cooler Water Cooler
In tiny Beaver, Utah – aside the I-15 and just south of the I-70 juncture, you’ll find a Chevron gas station (still) offering full-service at the pumps. Well, sort of full-service. You fill your own tank, and as soon as you do, the attendant comes over and cleans your windshield. He also checks under the hood. When all’s said and done, he doesn’t charge you extra nor will he accept a tip. It’s a nice throwback to a time when self-service was the exception. But these days we do just about everything for ourselves, don’t we? Including bottling our own water.
I have to admit; this is a new one on me: filling my own water bottle from a public dispenser. Sure, I already know the drill at the gym (just before I navigate the zoo of torturous cardio equipment). My gym’s water machine beckons me to place my bottle under the spout, auto-fills to within an inch of the top, then magically shuts off before overflowing. There’s even a digital counter tracking how many plastic water bottles we avoid in the process. Last I checked, my gym’s counter was into the several hundred-thousands.
Just this week – the “new one on me” – I noticed the same setup in the airport boarding lounge in Los Angeles. Two self-service machines are built into the wall adjacent to the restrooms. In the short time before my flight, at least three dozen people lined up and filled up, as if they’d been doing this for years. I earn the old-timer label for thinking there should’ve been a drinking fountain on the wall instead. Or a pay phone.Like the full-service treatment in Beaver, Utah, self-service water dispensers are free of charge. But that’s about to change, if you believe a recent Wall Street Journal article. The water products of Coca-Cola (Dasani, Smartwater, Vitaminwater) or Pepsi (Aquafina, Life Water, Evian) may be your thing, and you’re about to get them – for a price – through self-service water dispensers. For a little more cost, you can even carbonate your water or add fruit flavoring. Safe to say, “plain water” (i.e. the brand-less, cost-less, out-of-the-tap option) may soon be hard to find in public places.
Now then, the facts. Water is consumed by the (plastic) bottle more than any other beverage except soda. America alone accounts for 42.6 billion bottles a year (the world: 200 billion bottles). That spills to thirty-two gallons/person/year. The cost? $100/person/year. You forgot that line item in your personal budget. Put it just below the cost of your Starbucks habit.
Here’s another breakdown of the beverage. Americans consume 2.2 million bottles of water every day, or 90,000 every hour, or 1,500 every minute. No wonder proprietary self-service machines are the latest trend in airports (and just about every other place where people gather). There’s a serious market for brand-name H20, and the manufacturers know today’s eco-friendly consumers prefer to drink from their own bottles.
[Nagging Thought for the Day: There are more than 125 brands of bottled water across the globe; 125 unique recipes for a drink with essentially two ingredients. What makes one different or better than the next? For that matter, with reasonable filtering, what makes one different from the fill you can get from your taps at home?]
I wish I’d thought of self-service water dispensers myself (I also wish I’d “invented” bottled water). I’d be drinking in the riches. These days, “dispensed” water is psychologically preferable to “tap” water, even though some calculations put it 2,000 times more expensive. Are we just suckers for brand names? Hey, maybe I’ll invent brand-name oxygen. Oh wait – that ship already sailed…
Acqua di Cristallo Here’s one more stat to quench your data thirst. The most expensive of those brand-name waters – Acqua di Cristallo – costs $60,000 a bottle. The elixir (“water” doesn’t sound rich enough), is sourced from France and Fiji, comes in a 24-karat solid gold bottle, and contains a small sprinkling of gold dust. Acqua di Cristallo might as well be advertised as a panacea.
Lucky for you, maybe one day Acqua di Cristallo will be offered through public self-service dispensers. Might want to call your credit card company and increase your limit.
Some content sourced from the Wall Street Journal article, “Coke and Pepsi Want to Sell You Bottled Water Without The Bottle”, and the CreditDonkey article, “Bottled Water Statistics: 23 Outrageous Facts”.
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American Hollow-Day
Last Friday was a hugely important day in America! It was so hugely important I couldn’t sleep the night before! I got up twice hoping it was already morning. I stared at the numbers on the bedside clock, willing them to go faster. Finally, when dawn’s early light beckoned, I leaped out of bed like a child on Christmas, dashed down the hall, and stepped into the laundry room. I was brimming with anticipation! And there, standing patiently in the corner, tightly furled since last Independence Day: our American flag. Quick as a mouse, I ran her out to the front deck and hoisted her in the most prominent place I could find. Then I took a few steps back and placed my hand over my heart. To no one in particular I exclaimed, “Happy Flag Day!”
Poor Flag Day – she’s an underappreciated holiday. She comes and goes with no more fanfare than pre-printed words on the June 14 square of a wall calendar. She doesn’t even rate a Hallmark card. She yearns to be a real holiday like those ten federal ones. She wants to believe the events of my first paragraph actually happened. But let’s get real. In our house, the only excitement last Friday was knowing the weekend was at hand. I slept without interruption the night before. I didn’t get up at dawn. And our flag remained furled in the corner of the laundry room, knowing its only chance to see the light of day would be July 4th.Which is all to say, I’m missing the point of Flag Day, at least in this country. Wikipedia devotes two tiny paragraphs to its Flag Day article, beginning with the words, “A flag day is a flag-related holiday…” (promising start, no?) But at least they go on to say, “…a day designated for flying a certain flag…”, and, “…a day set aside to celebrate a nation’s adoption of its flag.” Here in America, we do neither on June 14th.
Apologies to Troy, NY (whose Flag Day parades draws 50,000+ spectators) and Waubeka, WI (which claims to be the founding city of Flag Day and also has a parade). The residents of those towns surely had a “banner celebration” last Friday. The employees of the Betsy Ross House in Philadelphia probably took the day off as well. But for the rest of us, it was just another June 14th, conspicuously calendared halfway between big-boy holidays “Memorial” and “Independence”.Don’t get me wrong – I think America’s flag is supremely appreciated. She flies above any government facility, sports stadium, or other big-time gathering in our country, and she always gets the highest position on the pole (except you, Texas). She shows up on a billion first-class postage stamps. She’s decorates the top of Mt. Everest and the moon. And on Independence Day, she’ll be raised more times than any other day. Which makes Flag Day seem, well, redundant, doesn’t it?
If we’re to truly embrace this overlooked holiday in America, I suggest the following from now on: 1) Your June 14th breakfast must contain some combination of red, white, and blue foods (i.e. cherries, blueberries, Pop-Tarts in a pinch). 2) Your June 14th outfit must contain the colors of the American flag (or at least one of those classy little lapel pins). 3) Unfurl and raise the flag at your house or place of business – and won’t it be cool to add “unfurl” to your vocabulary for a day? 4) Hail a cab or a friend, so you can say you “flagged them down”. Actually, disregard that last one.
I’ll grant one exception to my efforts to boost the significance of Flag Day. If you happen to live on a flag lot, you don’t have to do anything at all. You’re celebrating by default! But you might consider coloring your property appropriately. Wouldn’t that cause a stir in the plane flying overhead?Look forward, not back. Independence Day is only two weeks from today. Dust off your flag after all.
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Deutschland-ish Improvements
My wife and I are slowly remodeling our house, a room at a time. First, we took a big plunge and overhauled the kitchen. Then we gutted the master bath. Now we’re thinking about a large deck with indoor/outdoor spaces. But that was before a recent trip to Germany, where we cruised a good stretch of the Rhine. Suddenly “remodeling” takes on a whole new meaning.
Our cruise down the Rhine started in Amsterdam. Bad idea. Amsterdam is loaded with the prettiest little canals and bridges outside of Venice. As we were floating up and down the “city streets” we thought, “let’s put a canal bridge on our property!” But a canal bridge requires a canal, else you get London Bridge in the middle of the Arizona desert. So first we’ll be building a canal.
Our next stop on the Rhine kept us in the Netherlands. We landed briefly in Kinderdjjk, not even a map dot if it wasn’t for some of the most beautiful windmills in the world. Kinderdijk’s windmills not only pump water; they’re houses. We must add a windmill to our remodel list! It would make a unique guest house, and instead of pumping water from our well we’ll just windmill it up to the house from the canal. You know, the canal we just installed so we could put in a canal bridge.
Once our river boat hit Germany, I knew our remodel was entering uncharted territory. In Cologne, we walked through one of the most spectacular cathedrals in the world (seven centuries to complete!) In every Rhine river town we passed there was another cathedral (more likely a church, but over there they all look like cathedrals). Am I saying I need a cathedral on my property? Of course not; the neighbors would consider that a little pompous. But a chapel would be nice. Something to accommodate a steeple and bell tower as elegant as the ones you find in Germany. Wouldn’t it be great – calling the family in at dinnertime? BONG-BONG-BONG!!!
Here’s the other problem with Germany. Castles. Big ones. Little ones. Intact ones and crumbling ones. Wherever you look in the Rhine region, you see postcard-perfect towns with castles at their highest points. I mean, who wouldn’t want a castle on their property, right? The problem is, here in the flatlands east of the Colorado Rockies, a castle would look, well, compromised. You’ve got to have your castle sitting higher than everything else (otherwise, how would you lord over your domain?). Not to mention, castles take centuries to build. I’d like to be alive when my remodel list is finished.(Side note: my wife showed a disturbing interest in the castle torture chambers and all their nasty devices. Either this is lingering effects of watching “50 Shades of Grey” too many times, or I’m in deep trouble. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on her).
Castles just reminded me about one more thing in Amsterdam. They love their cobbled streets. Sometimes they’re perfectly uniform and flat; other times they’re ankle-busters if you’re not careful. Either way there’s no avoiding the cobbles. So now my driveway needs a remodel too. I watched an Amsterdam-ian working to replace the cobbles on one of the bridges (yes, they cobble those too). It looked like backbreaking work, one heavy stone at a time. But if I’m going to have all my other Rhine region elements, an asphalt driveway just won’t cut it.
In the southwest of Germany, just before the Rhine flows into Switzerland, you make a stop in Bavaria: land of dense fir trees, Black Forest cake, and cuckoo clocks. You’d swear you walked into a fairy tale, with Snow White (or Hansel & Gretel, or a hobbit) emerging from the nearest Tudor-style cottage with a smile and some gingerbread. Fortunately, nothing in Bavaria made it to the remodel list. I suppose we could plant a forest of firs, but that’s just tempting a large-scale fire and we’ve already had enough of those in Colorado.
Also just before Switzerland, the Rhine passes through several locks; those mechanical wonders raising vessels from the lower river on one side to the higher river on the other. There’s nothing like watching a lock do its thing while you’re in the lock. Just when I thought I was done with my remodel list, here come the locks. What a great way to secure my property! Raise the driveway higher than the street; then force my visitors to enter through a lock! On second thought, that’s too much work. I’ll add another castle element instead – a drawbridge over the canal I installed way back in the second paragraph.
If you think my remodel is brazen (i.e. “Dave, do the deck and call it good”), just you wait. My list is not quite complete. Our cruise ended in Switzerland. OMG. I repeat, OMG. How the heck am I going to remodel our property into Little Switzerland? There’s nothing I wouldn’t tap from this Alpine dreamland: the dairy farms (which means a whole herd of dairy cows), the cheese and chocolate, and some of the prettiest, cleanest lakes in the world. I’d even recruit a few of the Swiss themselves (as if they’d rather live in Colorado). Of course, the real problem with recreating Switzerland is those dang gorgeous Alps – snowy caps, grassy meadows, cog railways and all. Building Alps on my property would require ten billion delivery trucks of dirt and I just can’t afford that. I’ll settle for gazing at the distant Colorado Rockies instead.Come to think of it, gazing at the Colorado Rockies requires a deck. That I can manage. Let’s put my Deutschland delusion to the side and just start with a deck, shall we?

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The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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