On Saturday night Barb and watched the movie Enders Game. We had both read the book and enjoyed it but had a minor conflict about watching the movie.

I kind of wanted to watch it. I had skimmed through a lot of the physical description of the zero-G games and was never really able to visualize the setting very well. If nothing else I wanted to see what that was like.

Barb was concerned the movie would spoil the book.

I agreed that movies are seldom as good as the book but they can be good even if they aren’t as good as the book. We agreed to see it anyway.

I enjoyed it. Barb was disappointed because a lot of the team building was left out but she thought they did a great job on the special effects.

Update: After reading this post last night Barb mildly protested that we didn’t really have a conflict about going to the movie. It was a very short polite discussion about whether we wanted to see this movie or something else. And we came to the same conclusion without any flaring of emotions. I agree with this but I didn’t, and don’t, have a single word or short phrase to describe that conversation. “Minor conflict” is prone to misinterpretation of the reality of discussion but with a strong emphasis on “minor” it does describe it.

Barb: I got all the kinks out.

Joe:  When you went to the gym?

Barb: Yes.

Joe: What did you do with them when you got them out?

Barb (after no more than a half-second pause): I put them in the corner for later when I want to get kinky.

Barb and I went to Idaho this weekend and as we were leaving the area on Sunday we had brunch at Tam’s Place in Pullman (Washington) with daughter Kim and Jacob.

I had a bacon and cheese omelet. I was impressed. The inside was mostly bacon with only enough cheese to fill in the gaps. I opted for the French toast on the side. I could have had hash browns or regular toast. I really liked the meal.

Kim and Jacob seemed to enjoy their meals:

Barb had eggs benedict and said it was marginal.

* No. Not that Tam. But that is what I wanted you to think with the title.

You often hear the phrase “rotate your supplies” from experienced preppers. You have to use what you store, store what you use, and check things regularly to that you know you really do have what you think you have. Great idea, doesn’t always work exactly as planned. I came across a couple of these the other day.

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A fair number of people previously expressed some concern about Barb counting my shirts. As I said in an update to the post and in the comments I don’t really think there is anything to be worried about. A few days ago she gave me two coats, two sweaters, and a pair of pants for my birthday.

The only way I can resolve the present data in an adverse manner is if Barb is trying to get my closet rod to break due to excessive loading then suggest it was my fault for having so many clothes. That would be far too subtle and complicated for her personality. She is very direct.

The other day Barb was helping me unpack my stuff at the new clock tower. She was out of sight for a while then came back, walked up to me and said, “You have 242 shirts.”

“And your point is?”, I asked. No verbal reply. There was some body language but it was indecipherable to me. Okay. Whatever. Her Match.com profile did say she was eclectic* so maybe this was an example of this. I thought maybe she just liked to keep count of things like that. She has a great head for numbers. So I asked, “Did you include the ones in the dirty clothes? And I think there are some I left at your place.”

She had not included those and a couple of days later she reported, “You have over 250 shirts.” Again I asked, “And your point is?” Again I got silence and that indecipherable body language.

I thought about it a while and thought maybe she was trying to say I had too many shirts. So I went into my closet and looked. Nope. I still have room for more:

Today she told me she was going to count my gloves.

It must be that eclectic thing again.

Update: Okay. To cut down on the comments and private email telling me to “watch it!” or “run away!” keep in mind that 90% of this post was intended to be a joke. Barb laughed at it as much as I did. I deliberately withheld a lot of context and dialog to make it funny. There are no “lies” in it but there is a great deal of deception in it for dramatic and humor effect.

Thanks for all the concern but I really think people should “chill” just a little.

* Originally it had said, “eccentric” but her daughter suggested “eclectic” instead and so it was changed before I saw it.

Which is to say that I left town for a week, and at the same to say that attempts to find the original meaning of mere syllables can be utterly pointless. The lyrics to the song, Jock-a-mo being a good example. Or is it Chaque Amour? It’s bad enough if you’re sure of the language, but the many languages from several continents that were in use in the greater Mississippi delta region of the Gulf Coast, in addition to several native languages and trade language amalgams, it’s just stupid to think you can ever know.

Anyhow; the central Washington desert is a beautiful place, most notably for the vast, wide open spaces covered by sage brush, layers of ancient basalt formations, the more recent signs of the Missoula Flood, and gigantic public works projects. You can sit in one place and see millions of years of violent geologic history and our violent political future at the same time.

As I was unpacking at my new clock tower* Barb L. encouraged me to throw out old clothes. She told me, “A general rule is that if you haven’t worn it in over a year it’s time to let it go.”

I went to the closet and pulled out a sweatshirt. I told her, “I use a different rule than you. I bought this 40 years ago last month and I haven’t worn it in at least 20 years. I don’t plan on throwing it away.” She seemed to understand the new rule and there were no further discussions about it.

But then a while later she told me, “Okay. I’m going to take a picture of all your hats, gloves, and t-shirts. Then I’m going to post them on your blog and tell everyone to not give you any more.” “Why?”, I asked. She gave me a look that seemed like she was about to burst into some incredible snark but was exercising extraordinary restraint and said nothing. Women. You are supposed to “communicate” with them then they don’t talk even when you ask them questions. Whatever.

That was a couple days ago. Today I finished unpacking all my clothes and was thinking about what she had said. I decided I might be able to figure out what she was talking about if I spread the items out and took the picture myself. Here is a picture of some of my hats:

I think I understand now. She wants to be the one to give me new hats so I can express genuine pleasure at getting a new one rather than a duplicate of existing one.

* The view from the Clock Tower at my “neighbors” over two miles away through a 6X scope looks something like this: