<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812</id><updated>2011-07-28T12:20:58.246-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nantahala</title><subtitle type='html'>Cherokees called the area Nantahala which means "where the noon sun doesn't shine." Maybe I have an affinity for places the sun doesn't shine.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>393</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7594543474011753182</id><published>2009-10-18T17:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T17:09:24.751-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Did you know?</title><summary type='text'>I changed things.http://hibiki-echo.blogspot.com/</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7594543474011753182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7594543474011753182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/10/did-you-know.html' title='Did you know?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6043755019610198550</id><published>2009-07-19T15:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-19T16:04:03.959-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate Dell</title><summary type='text'>I've been working with computers for a few years. I've seen the good, the bad and the ugly. I've now seen the abomination.I'm visiting my in laws. My father in law bought a Dell 305 All in one printer. He is not a heavy user. So I noticed the "low ink message."With his other printer he bought a Universal Refill kit on the advice of a friend. I decided to be a nice son in law. I checked the net </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6043755019610198550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6043755019610198550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-hate-dell.html' title='I hate Dell'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5906267849773107431</id><published>2009-06-26T16:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T16:12:34.951-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot and humid</title><summary type='text'>Last winter we would have liked a day like today. Today I might enjoy a day like some we had last winter. Funny what a difference a few months can make in the weather.But with HVAC life is tolerable. I had a chance this week to drop a few pounds since I wasn't cooking meals every night. I didn't. As far as I know I didn't gain any weight so that's good.The choir party that was scheduled for </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5906267849773107431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5906267849773107431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/hot-and-humid.html' title='Hot and humid'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3103761398380376190</id><published>2009-06-24T11:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T11:53:11.674-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I lost it</title><summary type='text'>I decided that I needed to get another sand valve constructed. Well, the first thing to do is examine the two I'd built and get inspiration. I would also double check my method and madness.They were gone!I knew they were on the work bench two days ago. I knew that I was the only one who'd been near my work bench. Maybe "ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night" had snuck in. I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3103761398380376190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3103761398380376190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/today-i-lost-it.html' title='Today I lost it'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5381085306433509128</id><published>2009-06-24T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T07:34:38.727-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Does anyone have the time?</title><summary type='text'>There are times that Monk Ki goes off the ranch. One can’t sit around in total silence and know what they might be missing unless they experience what they are missing. That’s the problem with people today- they don’t know what they are missing.“Back in the good old days the trains ran on time.” The woman on the station platform spoke to Monk Ki since he was the only person standing there with </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5381085306433509128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5381085306433509128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/does-anyone-have-time.html' title='Does anyone have the time?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3964175091273735797</id><published>2009-06-19T18:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T19:13:30.944-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Over the edge</title><summary type='text'>It would be easy to blame it on the weather. It's not. Maybe it's my diet. I doubt it.Last night I was congratulating myself on some fairly nice domes on my N scale steam locomotive. I'd found plans for a locomotive that were published in 1956. Most of the locomotives of this class were razor blades long before I needed to shave. I took the plans ran them through Photoshop and then started </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3964175091273735797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3964175091273735797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/over-edge.html' title='Over the edge'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5522134151511243120</id><published>2009-06-18T09:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T09:37:29.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thursday update</title><summary type='text'>Even Shine on you crazy diamond – changes.Subtle differences can be heard between the various recordings. The song always seems to make me pause in thought if just for a second. I think it is because deep down the song expresses loss. For me loss is a hard thing to acknowledge and an even harder thing to express. The word stoic comes to mind.I just smiled. It’s hard to understand why we dip so </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5522134151511243120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5522134151511243120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/thursday-update.html' title='Thursday update'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjptPiKYxfI/AAAAAAAAAS0/4v9Iabe13Co/s72-c/domes+61809.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7897012515184117080</id><published>2009-06-16T15:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T16:02:25.643-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Choices</title><summary type='text'>One must make choices. I was editing an article for a newsletter. There is no need to wonder why I made the choice to help someone with a newsletter related to model railroading. I did. I made a choice.For the last "issue" I tried to make choices that would make someone else's writing intelligible. I made choices to correct spelling and grammar. I made choices to allow the reading audience a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7897012515184117080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7897012515184117080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/choices.html' title='Choices'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3886645112120056851</id><published>2009-06-15T16:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T16:06:22.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two questions</title><summary type='text'>There are two statements that I happened upon today. One is that all good narrative is suspense and that the goal must be forward motion.It would be easy to get bogged down in a detailed examination of these statements but then that would probably (no probably about it) negate the two statements.I went to a meeting of a historical society yesterday- that is historical information. Perhaps I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3886645112120056851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3886645112120056851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/two-questions.html' title='Two questions'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4277299493126765351</id><published>2009-06-14T19:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T20:03:39.981-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How to kill time- fast</title><summary type='text'>HBO was a freebie this weekend. So we went into "free movie" over drive. It's a good thing we don't get it. I'd be a zombie in about three weeks. But I did manage to go to a meeting for a historical society (or should that be an historical). Part of me suggested I join. I don't see a ROI yet. I got home and had an article to edit for a railroad group. So the first red flag I threw was can we use </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4277299493126765351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4277299493126765351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/how-to-kill-time-fast.html' title='How to kill time- fast'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5138113000133768924</id><published>2009-06-13T09:19:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-13T09:27:35.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time</title><summary type='text'>Some folks have better things to do than write blogs. I probably do. My life just kind of bounces.This AM I rewired a wall switch. I even attacked the box with a Dremel Moto-Tool so the cover plate would sit on it better. I'm also turning a model of a steam dome for a model railroad locomotive. Talk about a time killer. First, locate scale drawings so that I can get dimensions. Dig out digital </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5138113000133768924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5138113000133768924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/time.html' title='Time'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7641425518304592995</id><published>2009-06-11T12:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T12:52:52.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashes to ashes</title><summary type='text'>Master Ho Ha leans back, “Harumph.” He then returns to his precise upright sitting position.Monk Ki thinks that perhaps this is a clever zen shortcut to enlightenment. He leans back, “Harumph.” He returns to his as good as it gets sitting position.Twenty minutes later, not that anyone except the timekeeper is counting and he only does it by the destruction of a lit stick of incense, the bell </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7641425518304592995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7641425518304592995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/ashes-to-ashes.html' title='Ashes to ashes'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6428183131570477132</id><published>2009-06-10T06:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T07:06:17.691-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ancient history-</title><summary type='text'>It's been a while. Maybe I'll just toss a few thoughts. But first a plug for Pandora.com. OK the "flash" login is a pain. Hint: doesn't work with LastPass. But it provides music.I've been blogging on railroad stuff at Railnuts.com. The site name is a good indicator of the target audience. And now- a story with Monk Ki:It doesn’t matter how mindful one is; there are times the rice burns.In a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6428183131570477132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6428183131570477132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/06/ancient-history.html' title='Ancient history-'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-552375063836162443</id><published>2009-04-28T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T08:07:07.539-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will the real Milepost 131 Please stand up?</title><summary type='text'>This is what Norfolk Southern uses for their mileposts these days. I guess it is cheaper. I guess it is easier to replace. Doesn't have the "look of endurance" the old cast iron ones had.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/552375063836162443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/552375063836162443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/04/will-real-milepost-131-please-stand-up.html' title='Will the real Milepost 131 Please stand up?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/Sfcbasj3UjI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/2imR4FIreYM/s72-c/Railnuts+video+006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8839893221800109738</id><published>2009-04-05T17:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T17:26:00.517-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday- been a bit</title><summary type='text'>The sun passes overhead without a sound. Monk Ki looks at his shadow and thinks that to move that much mass so quietly is a pretty neat trick. He can’t even sit still without the sound of his breathing catching his attention.Weeds start growing and they don’t make a sound. Later they might rattle their seed husks to denote their demise. It’s a talent to go through life without making a sound. I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8839893221800109738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8839893221800109738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2009/04/sunday-been-bit.html' title='Sunday- been a bit'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3384541948727029949</id><published>2008-11-30T17:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T17:21:25.796-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Test</title><summary type='text'>This isn't much AND the caboose came loose (Now I need to inspect track) but I wanted to see how the attached video might look in a blog.So here is the Bushnell area. 




</summary><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=99f7846d80fcafa7&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3384541948727029949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3384541948727029949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/11/test.html' title='Test'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4746681394098335271</id><published>2008-11-13T17:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T17:22:05.484-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beginning to look better</title><summary type='text'>I'm beginning to get Bushell to look like the Bushnell I'd hoped to see. Here is a shot taken a few minutes ago.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4746681394098335271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4746681394098335271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/11/beginning-to-look-better.html' title='Beginning to look better'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SRzSnMqnVVI/AAAAAAAAAPE/mkGrMXI40gE/s72-c/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+13.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3671598566526337293</id><published>2008-11-13T17:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T17:18:20.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Looks a bit better</title><summary type='text'>Still have work to do but this photo shows Bushnell in better shape.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3671598566526337293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3671598566526337293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/11/looks-bit-better.html' title='Looks a bit better'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8084709308809667346</id><published>2008-11-10T16:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T16:10:47.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not all holes are in the head</title><summary type='text'>Well, on a ship they might be.Since the one photo I have of this complex shows no electricity my guess is there was no running water unless there was a pump. So other facilities were most likely outside.Those darn hinges are a bit large. So I'll be trimming them before the paint.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8084709308809667346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8084709308809667346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/11/not-all-holes-are-in-head.html' title='Not all holes are in the head'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SRjNQhJRleI/AAAAAAAAAIE/lCYS5TEJ8hk/s72-c/IMG_1251.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5640726752717753032</id><published>2008-11-03T15:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T16:04:51.685-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Progress? I guess</title><summary type='text'>Next time someone wonders whether I can volunteer my time for a "church" related project (in this case attempting to recover a system and "maybe" some photographs) I need to remember my new motto "Nope."Yep, that chopped more than twelve hours out of my life. Good quality "veg in front of the tv" time.Been working on my hotel. Let me assure you that 4*4 support posts are really small in N </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5640726752717753032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5640726752717753032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/11/progress-i-guess.html' title='Progress? I guess'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SQ-Rm3m0I-I/AAAAAAAAAH8/nJn8_zBSEZk/s72-c/IMG_1250.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6555245097011176055</id><published>2008-10-21T15:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T15:59:19.694-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Guilty as charged</title><summary type='text'>I'm building a model of a hotel/general store that stood in Bushnell, NC back in the 1930s-40s. When they built Fontana Dam Bushnell was covered by a couple of hundred feet of water. The hotel is long gone. I've seen one picture of the hotel. I liked it. My model railroad was designed just so I could consider building a model of this structure.I'm a bit daft. Guilty as charged.In the past few </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6555245097011176055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6555245097011176055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/10/guilty-as-charged.html' title='Guilty as charged'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7738405565433010823</id><published>2008-10-13T20:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T20:17:00.944-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A rather stylish lady</title><summary type='text'>As I understand it fashion is very important in Europe. Maybe she is over dressed.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7738405565433010823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7738405565433010823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/10/rather-stylish-lady.html' title='A rather stylish lady'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SPQO7ougUYI/AAAAAAAAAH0/R-HcFFGz-Bw/s72-c/IMG_0154+stylish.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2575243594253718244</id><published>2008-09-24T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T06:31:51.878-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Railroads - maybe</title><summary type='text'>Hopefully in the next couple of weeks I'll see a few railroads in UK and France. We're not planning on it but I always seem to see them as we're zipping down the roads.If nothing more we are going to ride on the Chunnel! As I understand it there are lights on but after I've seen a few hundred feet of concrete walls I'm sure I'll bury my head in a book.I'm the designated "camera man" so between </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2575243594253718244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2575243594253718244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/09/railroads-maybe.html' title='Railroads - maybe'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4360550374936414098</id><published>2008-09-04T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T13:15:15.271-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When does the cartoon start?</title><summary type='text'>I understand. It is theater. Last week the Democrats put on their show. Their audience was other Democrats. This week the Republicans are putting on their show. Their audience is Republicans. Both groups preach to the choir. I get that.But I’m not a member of either group. Maybe I have a bad habit of asking questions and looking at facts. Facts are often hard to uncover. I don’t doubt that Mr. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4360550374936414098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4360550374936414098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/09/when-does-cartoon-start.html' title='When does the cartoon start?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7101484557396749128</id><published>2008-09-02T09:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T09:21:22.478-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A good foundation</title><summary type='text'>OK it's not built on sand but I'd have concerns about these footings. The recent six inches of rain roared down the hill and exposed this section. With Hanna out in the Atlantic I'm wondering what the builders, sub contractors, and others are considering. An engineer I talked to said that they might have to cut out this section and re-dig and re-pour. When we got the big storm a couple of years </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7101484557396749128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7101484557396749128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/09/good-foundation.html' title='A good foundation'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SL1n7wMalRI/AAAAAAAAAFk/AwH8cKCVKyo/s72-c/IMG_0113.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-9180920451276478278</id><published>2008-08-11T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T10:17:29.341-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What sound?</title><summary type='text'>In the last several days I can tell you a bit about the sound trees make when they fall in a forest. Today the sound isn't quite as loud because the ground has been churned up by machinery into a dry powder fluff (no rain in weeks) to the ground muffles the sounds a bit.This AM while waking up over a cup of cofee I heard the words, "you'll never guess." She's right I never do. Seems that one of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/9180920451276478278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/9180920451276478278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-sound.html' title='What sound?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4276148310401737038</id><published>2008-08-07T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T12:05:33.254-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today</title><summary type='text'>Tree falls- BOOM.No rain falls. Boo.Another tree falls. BOOM.Dust rises. Heat rises.What's the stock market doing?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4276148310401737038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4276148310401737038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/08/today.html' title='Today'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3669623845302624434</id><published>2008-08-06T13:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:52:32.302-07:00</updated><title type='text'>North Wind</title><summary type='text'>The North wind will be a bit stronger this year. In 1948 they timbered the neighborhood. I’m not sure what they cut down and what they left at that time. I just know that near our cul-de-sac there was a rough cut milling operation. The neighborhood started about fifteen or so years later. Houses, roads, children riding bicycles. Three lots sat there. They are all behind our house. WE knew last </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3669623845302624434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3669623845302624434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/08/north-wind.html' title='North Wind'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3898972547927064028</id><published>2008-08-03T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T09:21:47.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dearly beloved</title><summary type='text'>In our fast paced lives I think we’ve (some of us) lost a sense of community. We reclaim it for special occasions. Birth, graduation, marriage, and yes, death come to mind. We gather at these times each seeking a moment of connection.  For a brief moment we feel in touch with something greater than our lives. Maybe we really feel a connection with something-outside- our selves.Technology </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3898972547927064028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3898972547927064028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/08/dearly-beloved.html' title='Dearly beloved'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8707633005949908706</id><published>2008-07-21T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T13:25:31.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little things</title><summary type='text'>In my limited experience if something is going to cause problems it will be located in a location that isn't ideal for remedy. I'm not sure how inanimate objects manage to do this but in my world they do.I have a turnout (switch) on the RR that passed inspection with flying colors multiple times when an E8 diesel went through multiple times. It's on the "upper" level near the doorway. So it was </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8707633005949908706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8707633005949908706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/07/little-things.html' title='Little things'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6204147675083771005</id><published>2008-07-08T16:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T16:23:33.723-07:00</updated><title type='text'>waste not</title><summary type='text'>I'm a pack rat. I don't save everything but if I think it might be useful it gets buried in some place that I often forget.This week I was adding some bi-color LEDS to my railroad. I kept forgetting which way a switch was set (a turnout and the DC power gets reversed depending on the tracks entering the area) so I decided to add the LEDs. If it's green the power is one way and if it's red the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6204147675083771005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6204147675083771005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/07/waste-not.html' title='waste not'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2646293102533974404</id><published>2008-07-07T08:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:01.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Over</title><summary type='text'>Ghosts stand watch on Mount Mitchell. They too are beginning to get old. For years they’ve been standing but decay wins. Red Spruce and fir have faltered. American Chestnuts left long ago. Shadows of what once was cast dim shadows under the noon day sun.Monk Ki looks around. Is he early or is he late? What time line is he supposed to follow? He looks west and chest takes a deep breath holding it </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2646293102533974404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2646293102533974404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/07/over.html' title='Over'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SHI29tIDw7I/AAAAAAAAAFU/sPxVvvBH5Ls/s72-c/mt.+mitchell.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8275288400566043469</id><published>2008-07-05T05:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T06:09:54.839-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Beauty is in the I of the beholder</title><summary type='text'>I got up early this morning. I just couldn't sleep. So I tip-toed out and got the morning newspaper. Yes, we still get it. It's a habit. I'm not sure why I read it. It's not that informative, I disagree with the editorial page and the news is about 12 hours old. But having little to do except another cup of coffee I was looking at sections I normally would recycle without a second thought.I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8275288400566043469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8275288400566043469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/07/beauty-is-in-i-of-beholder.html' title='Beauty is in the I of the beholder'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7893228085035130798</id><published>2008-06-29T07:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:01.471-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In preparation for the feast of St. Ann</title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;     Normal   0         false   false   false                             MicrosoftInternetExplorer4   &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;     &lt;![endif]--&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Courier New"; 	</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7893228085035130798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7893228085035130798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/06/in-preparation-for-feast-of-st-ann.html' title='In preparation for the feast of St. Ann'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SGeez18VTGI/AAAAAAAAAFM/qFmQpp66XMg/s72-c/England+2005+020.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-715783901582099918</id><published>2008-06-27T11:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T11:55:17.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another day but not another dollar</title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;     Normal   0         false   false   false                             MicrosoftInternetExplorer4   &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;     &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !mso]&gt;  st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }  &lt;![endif]--&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal  {mso-style-parent:"";  margin:0in;  margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/715783901582099918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/715783901582099918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/06/another-day-but-not-another-dollar.html' title='Another day but not another dollar'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6734251764641003257</id><published>2008-05-03T12:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:01.797-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Contortionist dream</title><summary type='text'>Top image- the shelf I have to crawl on like a reptile. See the light shining into the hole where the loops are waiting? Less that 20" of space.Bottom image- looking down onto the loops. I'm holding the camera against that metal air duct visible in the top picture.It might be a contortionist's dream but for me it is more of a nightmare. I knew when I designed it I was courting problems. I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6734251764641003257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6734251764641003257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/05/contortionist-dream.html' title='Contortionist dream'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SBy9l1fVSNI/AAAAAAAAAE8/ODB6S48RBv0/s72-c/loop+down.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-278739225993000132</id><published>2008-04-12T11:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-12T11:11:35.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Golden Spike celebration</title><summary type='text'>Final Code 55 track has been installed through Andrews, NC to wind "toward Muprphy" though it really reverses in the background to enter at the East end of Andrews.  So after several years major track work has been completed.  There is still work to be completed on a couple of turnouts at Andrews and the leads for the Ritter lumber company but trains can now go from Murphy Junction and Balsam (on</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/278739225993000132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/278739225993000132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/04/no-golden-spike-celebration.html' title='No Golden Spike celebration'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5911356888944049084</id><published>2008-03-26T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T11:11:49.501-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The sun sits</title><summary type='text'>Technically, that's not true. The sun moves and we're caught by it gravitational pull. The earth moves in orbit around the sun. I was tempted to say the sun sits still and we wander around it. It is moving too. Of course that means you'd have to buy into the big bang theory. There is never an easy answer.Monk Ki revels in the warm air. Worms are crawling closer to the surface. Red shoulder hawks </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5911356888944049084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5911356888944049084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/03/sun-sits.html' title='The sun sits'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3310268823381882767</id><published>2008-02-27T18:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:02.308-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not photo journalism</title><summary type='text'>A few pictures.A photo of the turnout under construction (East Topton)  with my big thumb.East Topton a bit closer with a NYC Mikado steam loco that just traversed the turnout and has partially backed up.First East Topton turnout taken from the other side of the room. You can see the two levels. Also you can see my computer monitor on my desk.  You might be able to see Governors Island bridge on </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3310268823381882767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3310268823381882767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/02/not-photo-journalism.html' title='Not photo journalism'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/R8YgP2o3FWI/AAAAAAAAAEs/ub5McZ9VcJs/s72-c/all+thumbs+east+topton.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6624371054141963983</id><published>2008-02-27T08:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T08:36:51.989-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dense- might learn one day</title><summary type='text'>There is a saying that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. I'd suggest that sometimes you can't get an old dog to forget bad tricks.I've been building some new turnouts. Let me set the scene. I've arrived at what will be Topton. That is on my second level of the layout. Track elevation is about 65 inches above the floor. For some folks that makes great eye level viewing. It also means that to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6624371054141963983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6624371054141963983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/02/dense-might-learn-one-day.html' title='Dense- might learn one day'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3363304686933315777</id><published>2008-02-22T08:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T08:25:00.182-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's just Friday, wet and cold</title><summary type='text'>A stream flows by. Water. Universal solvent. Symbol of everything that is. When I put a toe into the water it slides around me as if I don’t make a difference. Untold numbers of individual water molecules. They flow by and pay no attention to my fabric. Which one is cold? Which one is hot? I have no way of being able to distinguish on that level.     And yet my head sits up above and declares, “</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3363304686933315777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3363304686933315777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/02/its-just-friday-wet-and-cold.html' title='It&apos;s just Friday, wet and cold'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2707225927274199078</id><published>2008-02-20T08:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T08:43:19.399-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wearing flip-flops</title><summary type='text'>Life is the ultimate example of flip-flop. Scientists have no explanation; religions attempt to give reasons and we just sit here in anticipation. What else can we really do?     Monk Ki has been sitting for hours. The sun begins to tint the morning sky. Venus will pale in the bright light. The student sitting in his robes laughs at this thought. Venus is so often used as a symbol for love and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2707225927274199078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2707225927274199078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/02/wearing-flip-flops.html' title='Wearing flip-flops'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3986477126344322455</id><published>2008-02-17T17:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T17:43:57.929-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Momma mia</title><summary type='text'>Admission- I've been missing in action. That's not true. I'm not missing and I'm not around great venues of action. To almost sound railroad-esque- I've been sidetracked. I've just been busy doing other things. Baking lots of bread. I have a recipe that is fool-prof for me though some folks have taken a try and seem to knead help. I don't get it. It's one recipe that I've been faithfully </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3986477126344322455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3986477126344322455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/02/momma-mia.html' title='Momma mia'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2336524972862865047</id><published>2008-01-30T13:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:02.461-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alter egos, monkey, railroads and dark strangers</title><summary type='text'>Night before last I watched a movie from 1946. See a Dark Stranger. It was black and white, set in Ireland and the Isle of Man, about spies and showcased Deborah Kerr. And there I sat turning my head when old UK trains happened in a scene. Many of those railroads (if they were in Ireland) disappeared in the 1960’s due to a move called “rationalisation.” Go figure. Don’t get me wrong, the plot of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2336524972862865047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2336524972862865047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/01/alter-egos-monkey-railroads-and-dark.html' title='Alter egos, monkey, railroads and dark strangers'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/R6Dzmm_hAuI/AAAAAAAAAEU/oIsC8Z7Q62A/s72-c/suspect+turnout.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3066976291147707082</id><published>2008-01-25T07:55:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T07:55:52.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Silence</title><summary type='text'>“Master Po, what is silence?”     The old man sits on his cushion not even breathing or blinking.     Monk Ki, unaware as usual, misses the answer. “Master PO, did you hear my question?”     The old man looks at his student. “Yes.”     “So what is the answer? What is silence?”     “The old man slowly raises his hand as if to smash his student’s nose and the hand halts a millimeter from impact and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3066976291147707082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3066976291147707082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/01/silence.html' title='Silence'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5415931980885856518</id><published>2008-01-24T19:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:02.608-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things go better with...</title><summary type='text'>  I think I’ll stumble today. Not many folks start their day with that thought. I’ve been looking at System Theory for a few hours this week. Now there is a whole new universe where stumbling might just be the result of studying.     We have so many systems. I take that back. Many of us are involved in so many systems. Political systems. Religious systems. Social systems. Family systems. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5415931980885856518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5415931980885856518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/01/things-go-better-with.html' title='Things go better with...'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/R5lWRG_hAtI/AAAAAAAAAEM/V1f_kfSu4Sk/s72-c/lgindhead.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4391519645540481443</id><published>2008-01-13T19:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:02.797-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Contriving</title><summary type='text'>I always seem to be contriving. Right now I'm trying to come up with a way to build a mail catcher in N scale.What the heck is a mail catcher, you ask? That's why I added the pictures. In what some folks refer to as the old days the trains didn't stop for every station. They kept on rolling but we all know the mail must go through. So the post office folks hung mail bags on what were called mail </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4391519645540481443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4391519645540481443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/01/contriving.html' title='Contriving'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/R4rTZ7uml3I/AAAAAAAAAEE/uylADo4RpNI/s72-c/catcher+in+use.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3474475022370895978</id><published>2008-01-10T18:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T19:05:39.821-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pastpresentfuture</title><summary type='text'>All together now. Grin.A new year gets some of us thinking about what we've done. A few of us think about what we haven't done. And then some odd combination of the flotsam get together and decide to cogitate on what we ought to do in this upcoming year. Most of the list makers soon lose their lists. Time keeps on ticking so I guess that's not a huge catastrophe.Here I'm just grinding leaves, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3474475022370895978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3474475022370895978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/01/pastpresentfuture.html' title='Pastpresentfuture'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2275271248587433737</id><published>2008-01-03T18:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T18:35:16.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cold winds</title><summary type='text'>This time of year we get cold winds coming in from the north and west. The temperature outside as I write is below freezing. It sure is nice to just look at my computer screen and see that.I went to the library today. I had a book that was overdue. It got lost under a pile of Christmas stuff. That's not really true. I was clearing a spot and put stuff from another room on top of it. Last night I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2275271248587433737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2275271248587433737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2008/01/cold-winds.html' title='Cold winds'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8360130067927017755</id><published>2007-12-28T15:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T16:07:54.707-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's just money</title><summary type='text'>There are times when I just get tired. Recently one of the "railroad" discussion groups that I'm a member of has been "discussing" excursion/tourist railroads. A few of the folks take the attitude that some folks ought to be out there providing exactly what they want. They seem to conveniently forget that others don't have to provide for them. A few of them even go so far as to suggest that big </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8360130067927017755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8360130067927017755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-just-money.html' title='It&apos;s just money'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3096314907934367253</id><published>2007-12-13T08:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-13T09:22:51.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It was a warm afternoon</title><summary type='text'>Elmore Leonard suggests that one never start telling a story with a comment about the weather. I have been warned.But it was a warm afternoon. According to the weather channel one of the last for some time. Winter is out there lurking in the blues on the weather map. So when the market closed the suggestion was made that we take a walk. And after a bit we were standing looking at a new house. She</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3096314907934367253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3096314907934367253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/12/it-was-warm-afternoon.html' title='It was a warm afternoon'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-1582498407194194009</id><published>2007-12-08T17:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-08T18:06:08.647-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes and a little no</title><summary type='text'>We moved to another ISP. That is an experience.  You'd think if an ISP (connected with a well-known telecommunications would  know how to use the telephone. "Please call back later. Click." That was the first hurdle just to get to sales. Hmmm "we want your money but we don't want to make it easy for you to give it to us."OK so I clear sales and install is set up. The installer shows right on time</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1582498407194194009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1582498407194194009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/12/yes-and-little-no.html' title='Yes and a little no'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6911719985282478916</id><published>2007-12-04T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:03.046-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Changes</title><summary type='text'>I changed the Profile picture today. It's not as exciting as I'd hoped.  I need to experiment a bit more. The Pacific locomotive isn't exactly where I want it. Hard to see the smoke and the cab. But I was taking a few pictures and decided to take a shot.The picture included with this entry shows my efforts using Nitro-Stan. See that window on the right side? Last night I laid it out and cut it </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6911719985282478916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6911719985282478916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/12/changes.html' title='Changes'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/R1VzQR51iAI/AAAAAAAAAD0/nTZ6COjR778/s72-c/fun+021.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3434507799741670076</id><published>2007-12-03T12:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-03T12:22:56.800-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Silence</title><summary type='text'>There are times when silence can be a good change. I'm not sure whether silence is really possible except for perhaps a deaf person. Even when I think it's pretty quiet I hear sounds. Ticking clocks, wind in the trees, my breathing, so maybe I should really suggest that quietude can be a good change.Around here it get cooler again. A nice warm blanket feels pretty nice. My body is thinking that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3434507799741670076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3434507799741670076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/12/silence.html' title='Silence'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-9098487158073601500</id><published>2007-11-21T18:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:03.427-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anoher cave another time</title><summary type='text'>It was almost the seventies. Not quite. I was wandering along mountain trails around Black Mountain. It's nice country there. You cn feel almost as if you've left the world. Hey, maybe my ears were attuned to Southern Railway disesel locomotives but I could here them miles away down around Dendron.I found what at first I thought was a cave. I stuck my head in and then a few toes. It was </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/9098487158073601500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/9098487158073601500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/anoher-cave-another-time.html' title='Anoher cave another time'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/R0Tn61uCVmI/AAAAAAAAADg/KMch1YlFUD4/s72-c/mancave+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6374556183440760097</id><published>2007-11-19T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T08:01:50.814-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Another step or two</title><summary type='text'>The Blue Ridge mountains aren't a real challenge unless you're not in moderate physical shape. They don't stretch up to that point where the air thins. They don't get above the tree line. And they don't offer the starkness of say the Himalayas. Tell that to Monk Ki.Wandering from mountain to mountain can be a wearing experience. Our intrepid traveler (other descriptions come quickly to mind but I</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6374556183440760097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6374556183440760097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/another-step-or-two.html' title='Another step or two'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-1765929252056341749</id><published>2007-11-11T19:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:03.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In the small stuff</title><summary type='text'>Right now it's pretty hard to see exactly what I'm doing. If you walked into the room right now and asked me "what are you doing?" you'd be just as baffled.What you see is a railroad car I'm working on. As you might recall, I'm modeling the Murphy Branch circa 1942. To top that off I'm modeling it in N scale. 1/160. On the Murphy Branch I have found no instances that the Southern Railway EVER ran</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1765929252056341749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1765929252056341749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/in-small-stuff.html' title='In the small stuff'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RzfMzgG_iiI/AAAAAAAAADY/pZOWSBxK_GI/s72-c/RPO-B%26W-0032.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7719757099993661182</id><published>2007-11-07T12:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:03.827-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Redundant?</title><summary type='text'>I've changed my desktop picture to be the picture outside my window. My monitor is also right infront of the same window. That means I see the same thing on the screen as what I see out the window. Is it the  same picture? Yes and no. The picture was yesterday. I'm looking at it today. Similar but not the same.After all, I took a shower since yesterday.Soon the leaves will drop and be mulched for</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7719757099993661182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7719757099993661182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/redundant.html' title='Redundant?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RzIlf02f3zI/AAAAAAAAADQ/Igr7h5WJfC0/s72-c/nov6+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5564518376002917784</id><published>2007-11-04T08:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T08:32:57.853-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday- the hickories begin to shift toward yellow</title><summary type='text'>After a cold night in the mountains one does not so much wake up as just start stirring because it’s gotten bright enough to see that the forest just hasn’t really noticed. That is the predicament that Monk Ki has entered. Having nothing better to do he sets off along the path. This path was once the roadbed of a logging railroad. The railroad provided a way for cheap labor to fell huge trees and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5564518376002917784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5564518376002917784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/sunday-hickories-begin-to-shift-toward.html' title='Sunday- the hickories begin to shift toward yellow'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-725228891389110704</id><published>2007-11-02T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T12:22:47.406-07:00</updated><title type='text'>echoless valley</title><summary type='text'>Monk Ki sets off on a journey. In one of Master Ho Ha's lecture his teacher had mentioned the echoless valley. That phrase stirred Mink Ki's thoughts. How can there be an echoless valley?Ah, poor Monk Ki. He never read the Seven Women Sutra.  But Monk Ki isn't that well-read. He has a hard enough time trying to wake up. But if he ever gets the opportunity, no doubt, it will confound him.The </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/725228891389110704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/725228891389110704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/echoless-valley.html' title='echoless valley'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7655194546639682887</id><published>2007-11-01T16:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T16:02:44.528-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scattered leaves</title><summary type='text'>“She’s gone.” Monk Ki can hardly catch his breath. He ran up the side of the hill side looking for Master Ho Ha. The old man looks at his student.     “Why did you make her leave?” The young monk wipes the sweat off of the back of his head.     Why didn’t you tell her to stay?” Monk Ki looks at his damp hand and tries to think of a place to wipe the hand.     “You could have done it. You are mean</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7655194546639682887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7655194546639682887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/11/scattered-leaves.html' title='Scattered leaves'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2755256811763327100</id><published>2007-10-31T07:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T07:50:44.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Seasonal changes</title><summary type='text'>Maybe it’s the azimuth of the moon orbit. Maybe it’s the fact I’ve been listening to too much Bob Dylan these last few days. I could blame my diet. I have no idea.     Last night I was reading something that Maezumi roshi said about koan study years ago. That of course tickled memories of something that Masao Abe wrote. My reading and thinking seems to just put pitfalls traps and tempting </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2755256811763327100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2755256811763327100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/10/seasonal-changes.html' title='Seasonal changes'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3711723806309843512</id><published>2007-10-30T13:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T13:04:17.055-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Election seasonm is closing in</title><summary type='text'>Unfortunately humans have a knack for voting. I’ve never seen someone present the idea that any other creature votes. We “think” that democracy is the “big vote” idea but haven’t humans been voting since two of them found a reason to go against a third?     With the internet (and other things like psychology and theory) we’ve gotten better at voting. The web sites that help a person find a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3711723806309843512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3711723806309843512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/10/election-seasonm-is-closing-in.html' title='Election seasonm is closing in'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8694234050215520650</id><published>2007-10-21T17:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:04.210-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If you get the chance- don't miss it</title><summary type='text'>If you get the chance, try to get to the National Gallery before January, 2008. Why? J.M.W. Turner exhibit.I'm sure you know the title of the picture I posted, right?  "Approach to Venice."I'm never been to Venice. That picture almost makes me want to visit. I still think that picture reminds me more of the River Styx. That's what I like about Turner and his work. He always has me seeing </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8694234050215520650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8694234050215520650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/10/if-you-get-chance-dont-miss-it.html' title='If you get the chance- don&apos;t miss it'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/Rxvwhttvj2I/AAAAAAAAADI/MQ49s4RLfbE/s72-c/turner14.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-968214567217369997</id><published>2007-10-16T08:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:04.466-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shovel it</title><summary type='text'>Some folks need a bigger shovel. Piled higher and deeper. I hate to throw anything away. My basement gets piled higher and deeper.A neighbor offered me a FREE lathe. The tool man in me jumped at the opportunity. Free is free. I knew that I was not getting a top of the line lathe. I knew the heritage. It was from Harbor Freight. It is a cheap chinese or Indian knockoff. But I accepted the gift </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/968214567217369997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/968214567217369997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/10/shovel-it.html' title='Shovel it'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RxTaW9tvj0I/AAAAAAAAAC4/i_i7TDpB1dI/s72-c/shovel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6544986109726977201</id><published>2007-10-09T09:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:04.676-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cameras show it like it is</title><summary type='text'> Cameras rarely lie. That is a sad fact in life. I’ve been experimenting with a digital camera. Yes, even old dogs can learn new tricks. And yes, the railroad is my target. So yesterday I snapped a picture as I attempt to learn about taking close-up pictures.      There bigger than life was something I’d missed before. THe smokestack has an imperfection right at the top. Maybe it is a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6544986109726977201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6544986109726977201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/10/cameras-show-it-like-it-is.html' title='Cameras show it like it is'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RwunsNtvjzI/AAAAAAAAACw/WLn-yrjqDPY/s72-c/canonmanualslowiso+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2891084254924909103</id><published>2007-10-08T07:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T08:30:30.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>stimuli</title><summary type='text'>I never thought it would be this hard.  I'm simply writing a story. That should be easy. Once upon a time, some action, and they lived happily ever after. The End. That is a piece of cake.I'm digging a hole to China in quicksand. I'm spending way too much time re-writing. My intent is to arrive at a story that sells. That means that it has to impress a company that it can make money for them. So </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2891084254924909103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2891084254924909103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/10/stimuli.html' title='stimuli'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5097165783298331706</id><published>2007-09-26T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T14:46:45.139-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Food</title><summary type='text'>Duck!I was watching a robin out of the corner of my eye.I thought he was eying a worm.He ducked into the grass.I can't remember seing a robin sort of squat into the grass as if nesting.And then there was a gray flash over on the other side of the yard.A red shouldered hawk was flying low.The  robin saw him before I did.I'd duck too if I felt like I might be brunch.This afternoon the hawk was back</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5097165783298331706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5097165783298331706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/09/food.html' title='Food'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7684585126883796724</id><published>2007-09-19T07:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-19T07:21:45.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tough nut to crack</title><summary type='text'>Somewhere buried in the text of instructions to a cook, Dogen says something to the effect that one should, "Maintain a caring mind." Try that for a few minutes.What should one do? Damned if I know.Turn on the 24/7 news and in about thirty seconds I don't care. Put a greasy cheeseburger in front of me with the right combination of condiments and I don't care about my cholesterol level.  And I'm </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7684585126883796724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7684585126883796724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/09/tough-nut-to-crack.html' title='Tough nut to crack'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-1880947534835676446</id><published>2007-09-13T05:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T07:32:28.824-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Appropriate</title><summary type='text'>I guess it's only appropriate. Bring in the heavy equipment.I was merrily trying to get a locomotive running the other night. One thing led to another and I started looking closely. A could of the rails were out of alignment by maybe a couple hundredths of an inch. JUst enough to cause problems with one locomotive and at certain speeds.Unfortunately (as things usually happen) this location is </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1880947534835676446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1880947534835676446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/09/appropriate.html' title='Appropriate'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5832437859106281605</id><published>2007-09-07T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:05.061-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Slack water</title><summary type='text'>Darn return key!    The tide comes and goesNo pretense of importanceIt is life and death.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5832437859106281605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5832437859106281605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/09/slack-water.html' title='Slack water'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RuGOwHHsPBI/AAAAAAAAACo/t-P6uKFAH3A/s72-c/turntable+006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3111192808491732024</id><published>2007-09-05T12:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:05.366-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Plus thirty</title><summary type='text'>More than thirty years ago I built a turntable for a railroad. A turntable (for the railroad challenged) is a piece of equipment that a railroad could roll a piece of equipment onto, turn it and it would be reversed. It was also used at engine facilities to save space,  one or two tracks would be for connection with the railroad yard and there would be "radiating" tracks in the engine facility. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3111192808491732024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3111192808491732024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/09/plus-thirty.html' title='Plus thirty'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/Rt8GXHHsPAI/AAAAAAAAACg/9G_iF2RZT5U/s72-c/turntable_new_rail.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-7385306236310994977</id><published>2007-09-04T10:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-04T10:48:24.247-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Railing</title><summary type='text'>It only seems appropriate that I've been railing at a few railroad folks this morning. Part of my frustration is the fact that comments were made by people who didn't get all of the facts before making negative comments about a certain historical group. By the same token, they were headed in the right direction (based on my experience) they just didn't support they "conclusions" very well. So I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7385306236310994977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/7385306236310994977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/09/railing.html' title='Railing'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5396020833927859958</id><published>2007-08-29T10:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:05.535-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You knew it was coming, right?</title><summary type='text'>How does a spider know how to spin a web?  I guess if I happened to be a spider I'd know to make one line between two point. After that though the questions begin.Spiders spin webs for one reason: food collection. And yet if you look at a web there is a certain structure and geometry.Think about it. They have to find the right location. It's not like they can stand back at a distance, survey the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5396020833927859958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5396020833927859958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/you-knew-it-was-coming-right.html' title='You knew it was coming, right?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RtWqjXHsO_I/AAAAAAAAACY/l2PXmj46H74/s72-c/spweb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-890692888815358460</id><published>2007-08-27T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:05.748-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Trying to get back in the saddle again.  I'm probably one of a minority of folks associated with this blog who've even seen this movie. That is no boast. It is no confession. It's just a fact. It might say a little bit about my viewing tastes. I don't think thee was ever a Gene Autry movie with a complex plot or deep meaning. There certainly was no artistic  message. Good guys. Bad guys. Bad guys</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/890692888815358460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/890692888815358460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/trying-to-get-back-in-saddle-again.html' title=''/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RtLpLHHsO-I/AAAAAAAAACQ/gX1Q7R40MPY/s72-c/back.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2006484548325383393</id><published>2007-08-26T15:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-26T15:17:45.131-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Slow</title><summary type='text'>Things seem to be moving slow. Maybe time is trying to stay cool in the heat.Downloads are slow. That is a function of the number of folks sending stuff.The lawn is growing slow. That is because of the heat.I even read the newspaper a little bit slower this AM.Even this post is so slow that I shouldn't have bothered.git er done sure is slow too.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2006484548325383393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2006484548325383393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/slow.html' title='Slow'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3689938208720584273</id><published>2007-08-25T06:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-25T06:57:05.818-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Electricity</title><summary type='text'>Starting the day with electrical projects of all sorts.Shocked? Probably not.While we were in NJ the light in our storage room decided to give up the ghost. So yesterday I bought a box of replacement light bulbs. You can never have enough light bulbs. If you don't you'll be like me; I had to go buy some. And so bright eyed and bushy tailed I finished my morning coffee, watched CNN and saw that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3689938208720584273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3689938208720584273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/electricity.html' title='Electricity'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3743047572603199713</id><published>2007-08-24T06:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T06:55:52.652-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Work</title><summary type='text'>It's Friday. I think I'll pontificate.Most people know I'm a model railroader. Some folks know that goes a bit further. Specifically, I model Southern Railway. More specifically, I model Southern Railway's Murphy Branch in North Carolina. Some people think I go to an extreme. I model a specific month and year. June, 1942.  Yes, there are reasons.The Murphy Branch runs between Asheville, NC. and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3743047572603199713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3743047572603199713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/work.html' title='Work'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6927274128791827767</id><published>2007-08-17T08:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:06.226-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bare with me</title><summary type='text'> Bare with me       The duck descends on his invisible chord and the man with the glasses and moustache (don’t forget the cigar) says, “The secret word is :audience.” (yes the spelling is what I meant!)  Even Groucho appreciated his audience. I suspect we all like an audience even if it is just our solitary gaze in the mirror. We play to the audience. We hope to get an action out of an audience. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6927274128791827767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6927274128791827767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/bare-with-me.html' title='Bare with me'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RsW-UnHsO9I/AAAAAAAAACI/eUbOaKDPbAs/s72-c/groucho_marx300.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6020216801439601329</id><published>2007-08-16T11:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T11:26:28.848-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Construction projects and other things</title><summary type='text'>Last year about this time I was busy crafting a tiller handle for my father-in-law's sailboat. I thought that making it out of Ipe wood made sense. Ipe is an imported wood that some people use for outdoor decking. It doesn't really rot or get water- logged. It does but not real fast. My brother-in-law imports the stuff and offered to provide a piece. I can't resist that kind of deal.Ipe wood is a</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6020216801439601329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6020216801439601329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/construction-projects-and-other-things.html' title='Construction projects and other things'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-1141133158748592190</id><published>2007-08-14T06:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T06:14:01.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Come to my senses</title><summary type='text'>I'm addicted.You heard it here first. My senses like to be tickled. The Internet sure is a great way to assuage them.Most of you have probably never heard of an album called "Clash of Two Sevens". Until last week I sure hadn't. I was reading an older New Yorker magazine. That's what I do on my vacation. I catch up with my reading. I have a subscription to the magazine. So there I was when I read </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1141133158748592190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1141133158748592190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/come-to-my-senses.html' title='Come to my senses'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3100223259330382279</id><published>2007-08-13T07:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:06.445-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Draw a line</title><summary type='text'>Folks keep saying "draw a line in the sand." Perhaps this is just a rock with a line drawn in it.  I've positioned a rosewood Hotei laughing in the background along with a paper weight of a bonsai tree.I hauled that rock out of the Wyoming Wind River Range, slogging through about eight inches of snow. I was much younger. Darn, it's nearly forty years ago. I'll bet I'd be huffing and panting if I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3100223259330382279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3100223259330382279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/draw-line.html' title='Draw a line'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RsBr7wacR1I/AAAAAAAAACA/7VJUEPAV7LQ/s72-c/jade.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3362719813798866277</id><published>2007-08-12T16:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-12T17:04:57.931-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dried Basil</title><summary type='text'>We returned from our trip to New Jersey. The yard shows what things might look like if there really is such a thing as global warming. The tomatoes  probably won't rebound from being watered, the basil is dried, a few azaleas look as if someone dropped them in hot oil, the cucumbers- well my guess is they won't do anything else this year. Even the dogwoods are parched. Heck the vole that a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3362719813798866277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3362719813798866277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/dried-basil.html' title='Dried Basil'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-133808911437506023</id><published>2007-08-09T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T06:07:09.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I fear we've lost</title><summary type='text'>yesterday I visited theMuseum of Modern Art in NYC. I like to view art. It usually makes me stop and think or at least stop and experience. It did yesterday.There has to be a but, right?I noticed for the first time a new approach to art. Maybe as I write this I'll invent a new word but it has to do with the enter, approach, snap, sign, snap, and move on ritual that so many "patrons" seem to have </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/133808911437506023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/133808911437506023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-fear-weve-lost.html' title='I fear we&apos;ve lost'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8479180100163062817</id><published>2007-08-05T04:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T04:27:31.928-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the contour</title><summary type='text'>The contour of the beach has changed a bit this year. The drop at low tide is a bit steeper. No big deal. It's just apparent.Other passing probably change but not enough to be earth shaking. A new life guard. Expected. The A&amp;P seems to have hired a few eastern european students fot the summer. Heavy people still shuffle acros  the highway to the ice cream shop. This year they sing as they scoop </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8479180100163062817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8479180100163062817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/contour.html' title='the contour'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-6051039962764698240</id><published>2007-08-02T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T08:53:09.185-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nocturnal</title><summary type='text'>Nocturnal is an interesting word. At this moment it is interesting to me. It really isn’t that great a word. I could look it up in OED and perhaps learn something I didn’t know about the word but that isn’t pertinent.     I have nocturnal thoughts. I have nocturnal dreams. I even have nocturnal aches and pains. I don’t think to much about what I think about during the day and we all have day </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6051039962764698240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/6051039962764698240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/nocturnal.html' title='Nocturnal'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-880278735888022767</id><published>2007-08-01T12:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T12:28:00.487-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Touchstones</title><summary type='text'>TouchstonesWe all have touchstones. We may not know it; we may not acknowledge the fact, we may refuse to admit little truths. But what is a real touch stone. It is a dark stone such as slate on which a precious metal leaves a trace. So a touchstone is something that lets us know the worth of something else.     I’m trying to remember whether I’ve ever seen an eastern reference to touch stone. My</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/880278735888022767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/880278735888022767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/08/touchstones.html' title='Touchstones'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-645265168051832854</id><published>2007-07-31T17:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T17:41:23.697-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not stumped anymore</title><summary type='text'>I winched the stump out this AM. The mosquitoes were swarming me, the yellow jackets weren't happy, and darn squirrels in the trees were pelting me with half eaten hickory nuts.  But technically, I got the darn thing out of the ground without machinery although technically a winch would qualify as a machine.The hole is a nice hiding place for bits of concrete and other rubble. Heck, the squirrels</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/645265168051832854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/645265168051832854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/07/not-stumped-anymore.html' title='Not stumped anymore'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-1097454168509030123</id><published>2007-07-28T09:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-28T10:17:47.029-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Old ways</title><summary type='text'>Maybe I'm just cheap. Maybe I'm trying to be practical. Some folks might think I'm trying to be green (why hasn't anyone suggested that the Greenman from the UK be the symbol of the green movement?).The truth be known I'm just trying to say I did it with the tools at hand.What the devil are you blabbering about?I cut down a tree. No big deal. It was near the corner of the lot. It was an oak tree.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1097454168509030123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/1097454168509030123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/07/old-ways.html' title='Old ways'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4897350827714980094</id><published>2007-07-27T07:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:06.529-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Round and round she goes, where she stops...</title><summary type='text'>   One must consider the implications of pausing for a moment to reflect. The universe does not pause with you. It is like the bulls at Pamplona. Depending on when and where you pause it could hang you up on the horns of a real dilemma. Oh Bull! I’m just having fun!  To put you in my sphere right now, I’m listening to some ancient Carlos Santana. I have no idea what the Spanish lyrics say or even</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4897350827714980094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4897350827714980094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/07/round-and-round-she-goes-where-she.html' title='Round and round she goes, where she stops...'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RqoITwacR0I/AAAAAAAAAB4/HQ5Z2YZC0GQ/s72-c/toilet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4287562022973414501</id><published>2007-07-26T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:06.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Today, Let's talk about Ugly Feet</title><summary type='text'>Right now the Dow is down 350 points. That's ugly. Some might call that an ugly feat. But then I prop my toe carriers in front of my monitor. Talk about ugly feet!I know. I know. It's all a matter of perception. I'll bet you than most folks in the world would agree with me. "Man, you have ugly feet."Back when I was in college the skin on the bottom of my feet would crack into resemblances of the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4287562022973414501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4287562022973414501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/07/today-lets-talk-about-ugly-feet.html' title='Today, Let&apos;s talk about Ugly Feet'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RqjrSgacRzI/AAAAAAAAABw/B2O5qsrh8xs/s72-c/ugly+feet+4+real.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8323314059967572874</id><published>2007-07-25T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:06.869-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Refractions of light</title><summary type='text'> “No matter how fast you can run, age will catch up with you.” I sat breathing hard at the top of a trail end on mountain ridge. Years ago I might have jogged up the path.      As I look across the valley it seems as if nothing has changed. I’m not an idiot. A lot has changed. I’ve only learned one thing in forty years- change happens. I participate in my own reverie of self-flagellation secure </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8323314059967572874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8323314059967572874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/07/refractions-of-light.html' title='Refractions of light'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RqeE5wacRxI/AAAAAAAAABg/lQGSH-Cgs9k/s72-c/rainbow+andrews.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8671915254436616946</id><published>2007-07-24T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T10:07:00.272-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where is Monk Ki</title><summary type='text'>I was fascinated by a PBS show about Joseph Turner last night. I've always liked his paintings but I learned a bit more about the man and his craft. I like to know more. I wanted to get my hands in paint. I wanted dark colors and gold under my fingernails. And then this morning I was astounded by someone crafting a locomotive almost half the size of the ones I craft in brass. To top it off I got </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8671915254436616946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8671915254436616946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/07/where-is-monk-ki.html' title='Where is Monk Ki'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2963931484481624055</id><published>2007-06-26T06:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-26T06:52:44.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The eyes have it</title><summary type='text'>Somewhere I read that men (of our species) are visually oriented. The excuse given was eons of being hunters. If all hunters had my eyesight the human race would have died off before civilization but that's another story.If indeed men are visually oriented that would explain why "we" quickly took to micro computers. Yeah I bought one of the early computers (Apple ][ ) to balance my checkbook and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2963931484481624055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2963931484481624055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/eyes-have-it.html' title='The eyes have it'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-5907736726448425527</id><published>2007-06-25T07:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T07:23:11.064-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fighting</title><summary type='text'>I've been fighting the first chapter of my novel. A good writer could have written a couple of hundred books, published them all, and been drunk at a thousand signing parties in the length of time I've spent. Why the hell do I think I can write a book. Heck, I have a hard enough time writing a check.I tear into it. One day its a bit longer; the next day I've cut it. I've changed the opening scene</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5907736726448425527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/5907736726448425527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/fighting.html' title='Fighting'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4330340321522698840</id><published>2007-06-20T08:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T18:57:07.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Confetti</title><summary type='text'> “Images.”      He wonders if anyone is a voyeur hidden inn the forest watching him. He’s sitting on a rocky ledge which  erects out of the side of the mountain, in poor imitation of an old man’s excitement at the sight of a young woman.     Rip.     Another page is carefully pulled from the art book. His eyes examine the image. Vermeer. Both hands set to work bisecting the image and a tear. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4330340321522698840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4330340321522698840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/confetti.html' title='Confetti'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/RnlJTx_nl6I/AAAAAAAAABY/AaqXDY_7GFk/s72-c/tricko.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-3215634891384251323</id><published>2007-06-19T17:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T17:40:34.909-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Serendipity?</title><summary type='text'>That might be the proper word. It might not. I’ve been thinking about a problem I brought on myself a couple of years ago. Imagine a blind man attempting to solve Rubik’s Cube. That’s me.     A year ago or so, I bought a book at the used book store. I had a credit there and felt a bit flush. It’s like fake money on my tab. A book caught my attention: A River Sutra by Gita Mehta. There is a Rivers</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3215634891384251323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/3215634891384251323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/serendipity.html' title='Serendipity?'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-4248431376142569280</id><published>2007-06-14T06:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T07:10:41.152-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Monk Ki enters (stage right)</title><summary type='text'>Early dawn finds Monk Ki sitting. He's been visiting other monasteries. That's his excuse and he is sticking to it. He hears the heavy footfall, though it is more of a foot shuffle behind him on the moss. In a fluid motion Monk Ki stands, turns and bows to Master Ho Ha."You never seem to amaze me, Monk Ki.""I have learned a great deal from you Master.""Perhaps I did not mean that as a compliment.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4248431376142569280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/4248431376142569280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/monk-ki-enters-stage-right.html' title='Monk Ki enters (stage right)'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-8539576709561283656</id><published>2007-06-12T08:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T08:25:36.308-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New fangled</title><summary type='text'>I should consider myself luck. I guess.I made my semi-annual pilgrimage to the dentist. I know. I need to floss as if my life depends on it. I've never found flossing to be a "fun" activity. But I wasn't told I was going to Hell so I guess I've been flossing more in the past six months. I'd put off a filling last time so I knew it was inevitable this time. Granted I wasn't expecting them to find </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8539576709561283656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/8539576709561283656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/new-fangled.html' title='New fangled'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11676812.post-2585850885915760168</id><published>2007-06-09T08:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T08:49:06.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bob always manages to cut to the quick</title><summary type='text'>Food: cup of strong CoffeeMusic: Empire Burlesque- Bob DylanBob Dylan always seems to be able to combine just a few words and some interesting chords and say so much:I know this dream, it might be crazy,But it's the only one I've got.Damn! it's not even a haiku.  Fifteen words. Bang!Back to my email. Had an old technical DOS question sent to me about old database programs.  Who says old folks </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2585850885915760168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11676812/posts/default/2585850885915760168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gritpusher.blogspot.com/2007/06/bob-always-manages-to-cut-to-quick.html' title='Bob always manages to cut to the quick'/><author><name>Gazelder Lufetarg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00936093260236399856</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ANmOfU7Q4Lo/SjGDxT_B2AI/AAAAAAAAARE/Eb5K7Z61pnE/S220/Bushnell+East+712+Nov+14.JPG'/></author></entry></feed>
