On May 25, 1977, the first Star Wars movie, “A New Hope,” was released. Everyone started talking and everyone started going. We were there in line with the crowd.

That first “Star Wars” was itself a cultural and marketing phenomenon (singular), and it was the start of the phenomena (plural) of star war movies and mania that shook the foundations of our planet. It was a “phenomenon” because it was the first movie and it was called “Star Wars,” the movie. It was the start of the “phenomena” because it was the first of six Star Wars movies to be released in two trilogies — with hopes of another trilogy in the far distant future.

The first 1977 movie was actually #4 in the series. Three years later, #5, “The Empire Strikes Back” (1980) was welcome with worried concern, and three years after that, #6, “Return of the Jedi” (1983), appeared in movie theatres across the world to the loud applause of an army of followers – many of whom were costumed as rebel pilots, storm troopers, musical miscreants and furry teddy bear fighters. We were in the midst of an intergalactic war, and we had the figures and models to prove it. I still do, in the remote storage unit. My children are grown with children of their own, but the figures remain neatly ordered in a black plastic Darth Vader case in a universe that is and always will be their own, just waiting to be called to fight the next menace.

Twenty-two years after the first movie, we saw #1, “The Phantom Menace” (1999), followed three years later by #2, “Attack of the Clones” (2002), concluding with #3 “Revenge of the Sith” (2005). The #3 and final movie in the first trilogy, which is actually #6 and the last made, was released 28 years after #1, which is actually #4, which we finally reached in wide-screen wonder at the end of that long line in 1977. It is all just wonderfully confusing and entertaining, and I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.

I have all the movies, I have watched all the shows and I’m ready for the next installments.

The space ships are amazing. I still remember the massive hulk of the Imperial Star Destroyer appearing from the black of space to menace Princess Leia in her tiny Rebel ship. That Imperial cruiser was a battleship, an intruder of gargantuan proportions with a city on its surface and gun emplacements everywhere, armed with turbo lasers, ion cannons and tractor beam projectors, to name just a few. Han Solo wasn’t even fazed. He and Chewbacca just climbed into their swivel gun emplacements and started firing away at the gnat-like TIE fighters, before blasting off into space warp safety, to return and fight again. Luke Skywalker didn’t bat an eye either. He jumped into his X-Wing Fighter with R2-D2 riding shot-gun and took on the biggest space ship ever, the Death Star, a moon-sized monster on steroids that could swallow a planet whole and spit out the pieces. Luke just dived right in, with Obi-Wan and the Force calmly guiding his hand, found the one weakness all bullies have and saved the day for the Alliance and their rag-tag fleet of tattered and happy star ships.

That was a movie. Our heroes got medals, Princess Leia gave them each a “look” and we hadn’t seen enough yet. In some ways, we still haven’t. There is and will always be something very everyday and right at home in those make-believe star ships and their make-believe worlds. The battles and settings were somehow not that far away and reminded us that we are part of something bigger, grander and as exciting as only imaginations can be. We learned our lesson. We have to keep fighting for what’s right and good and not worry about the cash. Han Solo did it and we can too.

May the force be with you,

Grandpa Jim

Reminder to Readers: The force was with Hiroshima. Please read her story. Just click the “Mary and Other Stories” tab and drop down to “Hiroshima.”

On May 22, 1980, the arcade game called “Pac-Man” was first released in Japan. At a trade show prior to its release, marketing executives who saw the game laughed and said, “Who will play a game with a yellow hero shaped like a pizza with one slice missing eating dots in a maze being chased by four cute little colorful ghosts named Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde?” They put their money on a new racing game called “Rally-X.” The racing game crashed, and Pac-Man gobbled up the video arcade market.

Gobble, Gobble — eat, eat — Pak Pak. In Japan, “paku paku” is the onomatopoeic slang phrase for the mouth opening and closing in the simulated act of eating, as if to tell your friend, “I’m hungry, let’s get a pizza.” And, boy (and girl), that little yellow guy was hungry. In fact, the Pac-Man character was not only designed to look like a piece of pizza from which someone has just grabbed a slice, he was designed to resemble the Japanese character for the mouth that was getting ready to chomp that pizza piece. Why mouth and pizza for a gaming hero in what had been a land of race cars, space invaders, asteroids and ping-pong? Why indeed?

Let’s get back to the girls. Before Pac-Man, the video arcades were filled with male players. Holding his nose in that sea of sweating T-shirts and old sneakers, our thoughtful game designer looked around and said, “We need some young ladies in here . . . and some perfume.” He ran back to the game-design house and grabbed eight other designers. They huddled together with their heads down in a circle talking. “How about a fashion game?” “No.” “How about a love story game?” “No.” I give up, what? What does everyone like to do, boys and girls? “How about an eating game?” “Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes and Yes!!!!!!!!!”

A year later, that gang of designers emerged with the first “Puck Man” cabinet and carried it down in a parade to the nearest Japanese arcade. The guys liked it. Outside in the fresh air, the girls looked through the smudged glass, saw that handsome yellow fella being being chased by those four cute ghosts and said, “That’s so adorable and it looks like fun.” Those girls walked right in, politely moved the boys aside and started playing. In shock, the guys stood with their mouths open looking like Pac-Man in old jeans and sneakers. The girls laughed, pulled them over and they all started taking turns, having fun and thinking it’s about time we all went out for a pizza together.

Yes, that first arcade cabinet was named “Puck Man” (couldn’t quite break away from the crazed pong sports phase), but when the girls started playing and saw the resemblance of that little guy to those startled boys with their mouths hanging open, the designers (who were watching all this with big smiles, including the shared pizza meal afterwards) quickly changed the name to “Pac-Man” (we’re committed to this eating thing now), put 100,000 of those Pac-Man arcade cabinets on a boat to America and opened up a big bank account.

By the end of 1980, Pac-Man has eaten more than $1 billion U.S. dollars in quarters. By the end of 1982, an estimated 7 billion coins had been inserted into Pac-Man machines. By the end of the 20th Century, Pac-Man was the highest grossing and most influential video game of all time. Pac-Man had become the first original gaming mascot with a world-wide following of boys and girls who remember the first time they played the game together and the first time they shared a pizza afterwards.

Civilization had found its way to the video arcade and the world of gaming has been much more attractive ever since.

Today, much has changed. You don’t have to go to a video arcade. You can play Pac-Man pretty much anywhere. One constant has remained. After Pac-Man escapes those friendly ghosts and has gobbled up all those pac-dot, you and your friend will be hungry. It’s time to share a pizza at the local Italian pie shop.

Mangiare bene,

Grandpa Jim

Note to Readers: The new story, “Hiroshima,” is now under the “Mary and Other Stories” tab. Just click, scroll down to “Hiroshima,” click and read.

Three words.

Knowledge, understanding and wisdom.

What do they mean and are they a good idea?

If you are washing clothes, they may be an excellent idea.

The ancient text, entitled “Proverbs,” presents an interesting explication of these three words. The first nine chapters in the modern versions of the book (there were no chapters in the original scrolled text) present a morality play in which a lady in the person of “Wisdom” calls aloud to a “Young Man” to offer guidance and direction to the youth based on knowledge and understanding and leading to wisdom. The remaining chapters present a collection of proverbs and sayings ending with a tribute to the noble wife – perhaps a tactfully placed reminder of who’s really in charge – Mom.

The proverb is an interesting literary form. To me, a “proverb” is a couplet of two verses that compare different things to help you decide which is best, with a prejudice in the wording that let’s you know which way the author thinks you should go.

Let’s try one.

Proverbs 15:22 says “Plans fail for lack of counsel, / but with many advisers they succeed.” Fairly basic advice. To paraphrase, “It’s generally better not to go it alone.” I knew that. Maybe that’s the secret of a proverb. It does tell you what you already knew, but in a fashion that catches your attention and invites renewed thought and reflection. “Do I really know what I already knew?” Who knows?

Let’s try another.

Proverbs 17:22 suggests that, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, / but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Wow, that’s a mouthful in a few words. I knew a positive attitude was important, but I didn’t know it could keep me out of the hospital. I am still trying to figure out why “cheerful heart” was comparatively placed in opposition to a “crushed spirit.” The juxtaposition seems a bit extreme. Just because I don’t smile, my bones are going to try up? Oh, I begin to see. These are deep thoughts. More than meets the eye, so to speak.

Let’s get back to that load of wash.

A new washing machine was just delivered to my house. I’ve never seen one before. Play along with me here – let’s see where this goes.

First, I look at the white box and lid and the control panel and I wonder. I open the lid and stick my hand inside. I twirl the spinner. I feel the nice porcelain enameled exterior. Smooth. Clean. If I was an engineer, I might take that washer apart, catalog the parts and put it back together again. Then, I would know all the parts. I would have knowledge of the washing machine and what it is composed of, but I would have no idea what to do next. The facts, all the facts, and nothing but the facts. That’s knowledge.

Second, I notice the book I threw over in the corner. I pick it up and read, “Instruction Manual.” I think to myself, “I don’t usually read these things, I’m a guy, I can figure it out myself.” Then, I look at the white machine I just put back together. Standing there. It’s not doing anything. Can’t hurt. Why not? So, I start reading. “Oh, that’s how it works! I understand now. I put my dirty clothes inside and then I. . . .” The light bulb in my head just turned on. Click. I now have an understanding of the washing machine. I know how to make it work for me. I know how to put the facts to work. That’s understanding.

Third, I gather all my dirty laundry and start loading the first tub. I end with my new white polo shirt. Wait, there’s still room for one more thing. I look at the clothes piled on floor, reach down, pick up my new red socks, throw them into the tub with the detergent and turn on my new washing machine. Wisdom is not putting the red socks with the white shirt. I can have all the knowledge and understanding in the world and still not make the right choices. Wisdom is making the right choices. That’s wisdom.

The book of Proverbs could have been titled, “How To Wash Your Clothes and Look Good When You’re Through.” Solomon was a smart guy. He thought, “That title is too long, I need something more catchy, just one word, that says it all, hm-mm, what should I call this book, got it!” He did and he wrote it. I’m still trying to catch it and I read it. Some guys are just wiser than others. Maybe, I should read it again. Can’t hurt, I say to myself, as I sit down in my newly washed pink shirt and turn to the first page.

“Plans fail for lack of counsel, / but with many advisers they succeed.”

Maybe a few more words from a few good friends would help.

May the wise words of those around you line your path,

Grandpa Jim

Why are dynamite, gunpowder and the atomic bomb so explosive?

Dynamite was invented by the Swedish chemist Alfred Nobel and patented in 1867. He worked with a particularly unstable chemical molecule called nitroglycerine, which just wants to break apart and release the energy that’s holding it together. It doesn’t like to be nitroglycerine and is just looking for a reason to break up, throw a tantrum and be something else. Alfred said to himself, “Okay, you want to change, what if I pack you very carefully in a tight container, give you a big remote smack on your unstable back, what will happen next?” BOOM! Dynamite was born. Mr. Nobel made a fortune, realized blowing up things was not always such a good thing and used his money to establish the Nobel Prizes to fund other more productive pursuits, like peace.

Loud explosions tend to change the direction of people.

Gunpowder has done that for thousands of years. I think the Chinese first invented gunpowder. The official court chemist was in the back room playing with some everyday powders. He said to himself, “What if I mix one part this, with two parts here, throw in some of that over there and then strike two stones together to make a spark?” KA-BANG! Gunpowder was born from the interaction of stable everyday chemicals becoming unstable in close proximity to each other, something sparking a fight and the whole crowd releasing their angry energy on an unsuspecting world.

We’re only a few molecules away from something happening, and it’s not always good.

As a kid, I was a chemist and a young scientist. From my home-built lab in the basement, I would launch little rockets into the ceiling. “Whatever you’re doing down there,” Mom would yell from the kitchen, “Stop it.” We and the other scientists moved across the street. “What was that explosion?” my friend’s Mom yelled from the kitchen, “And why is all that smoke in the garage.” We grabbed our sleds and launched ourselves down the snow-packed street, wondering if maybe we should just keep going.

Most times, loud noise and smoke are not a good idea, not just for kids, sadly.

An atomic bomb starts with atoms not molecules. That’s the difference between an atomic bomb and gunpowder or dynamite. The beginnings of all these explosive incendiaries are the bonds of energy that are inside a molecule or atom, holding them together. A molecule is two or more atoms bonded together. For example, water is the H2O molecule, two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom; the 2H and 1O atoms are held together by bonds that require energy; break the bonds and you release the energy. That’s how gunpowder and nitroglycerine work. An atomic bomb looks to the bonds of energy inside an atom, holding it together. For example, that H or hydrogen atom is composed of one electron revolving around a proton – think of the moon revolving around the earth. However, this is in the very small internal area of an atom. In there, with that one little proton and one little electron, it takes a great amount of energy to keep their world spinning. Knock that electron and proton apart, and you release a whole bunch of energy. That’s how an atomic bomb starts.

Little does not always mean less, especially when we are talking about the pent-up energy of molecular and atomic bonds.

The word “bomb” could derive from the word “bond,” or more likely from the word “boom.” A bomb is a boom of broken bonds.

Bombs are devices that release the energy in molecular and atomic bonds in a setting that accelerates and magnifies the force of the reaction for the purpose of hurting others and their belongings.

The release of energy can and should be a good thing. Burning a log on a fire is the release of the molecular energy in the wood. A controlled fire in the heater, stove or fireplace is a very good thing. It warms us in cool weather, heats our food and comforts us with its bright flames. Uncontrolled, a fire is a very bad thing. A forest fire can destroy homes, crops and people. A bomb is an uncontrolled forest fire. And, the sad thing about a bomb is that the fire was started intentionally to cause damage.

Over two thousand atomic bombs have been detonated for testing. Only two atomic bombs have ever been used against people. Near the end of World War II, the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed by atomic bombs. The blast that devastated Hiroshima is calculated to have been equivalent to 60 million sticks of dynamite.

We know why dynamite, gunpowder and the atomic bomb are explosive. We also know how to control the release of molecular and atomic energy to build a better life for all on our planet. Dynamite, gunpowder and the atomic bomb can destroy that life. My hope is that we can control how we release the energy in molecular and atomic bonds by making the right choices for the future of our world.

May wisdom guide our steps,

Grandpa Jim

When was the first pickup truck?

The pickup truck is part of the American way of life. In Texas, if you live in the country and don’t drive a pickup truck, a kindly cowboy with well-worn boots is likely to smile, lift his battered and stained hat, wipe his forehead with a red bandanna and explain in a slow and kindly drawl, “Well, sir and ma’am, that just ain’t done out here.” And, it ain’t.

The truck doesn’t have to be new. It’s going to be covered with gravel dust from the back roads and mud from the fields anyaways. And, it can be a bit worn itself, with some chips in the paint and the bumper not quite straight, but it should be a pickup truck. That’s just the way things work best out there in the country. No offense, sir and ma’am, they just do.

The work horse of the frontier, farm and ranch is the pickup truck. For some things, it’s still the horse, but that horse sure does appreciate the help from Mr. Ford and his friends. The pickup truck can be a Ford, Chevrolet or any another brand. Texans are wide open to new ideas and looks. Depends on what you and you’re kin are partial to. Can even be a Toyota.

Now, that’s a story, a bit of Texas apocrypha that might just be true. Years ago, Toyota only had a small pickup car, not even a real truck. The story goes that some Texans wondered about this and invited some of those Toyota executives to a Texas football game. At half time, the hosts said, “Let’s take a walk in the parking lot.” They did and as they were walking along, one Texan said to his guest, “What do you see?” Now, this was a car executive and he noticed cars, but there weren’t many cars out there in that big old lot. A puzzled look crossed the executive’s face, he thought and then he smiled, nodded and said, “I see trucks, many trucks, many big trucks.” The Texan smiled a big smile right back. Those two went back to the second half of that game and designed a nice big truck for Texas, so it’d fit right into that parking lot with the rest of those fine vehicles. Now, that’s a sight would warm the heart of any Texan, and many a Japanese too. I betcha.

But, back to the original question. When was that first pickup truck?

The first official, rolling off the assembly line, not built in the back shed, honest to goodness and you can buy it downtown at the dealership, that first pickup truck was the . . .

1925 Ford Model T Runabout with a cargo bed in the rear!

It was a beauty. The 1925 Ford pickup came standard with a front mat to rest your boots on, a jack, tire pump and a tool kit. Can you imagine? It had its own tool kit, with a screwdriver, monkey wrench, spark plug wrench, end wrench and hub cap wrench. Back in those days, you performed a lot of your own maintenance. Talk about speed. That truck had an L-head, 4 cylinder engine that exploded with 20 horsepower. A motoring monster, it sat on an extended 100-inch base, count ’em, 100 inches from front to back. A marvel, simply a marvel, and it was yours for only 281 dollars U.S. Oh, I failed to mention, it also had an adjustable tailgate, four stake pockets and heavy-duty rear springs. Did the wonders ever cease? In the eyes of the motor driven public, apparently not. 34,000 were sold that first year, and they’re still a sought after collector’s item this year.

Get ready, world, the pickup truck was on the road and drving your way. The versatile vehicle still is. It may not be the prettiest or the cleanest or the most elegant or the most outfitted, but it’s a part of the family and that’s just the way it is. You betcha.

Jump in and hold on for the bumps. We got some work to do and this old truck’s the one can do it.

Grandpa Jim

What is a “blog?”

Hopefully, it is not a “blob.” When analyzing a problem and defining a word, it can help to determine what a thing is not. So, let’s start with blob and see if we can get to blog.

In 1958, the musical group “The Five Blobs” released their hit to a scared, cowering, can’t-wait and screaming country. “Beware of the Blob” was a musical phenomenon in only 5 lines: “Beware of the Blob! /It creeps and leaps and glides and slides across the floor/Right through the door and all around the wall, /A splotch, a blotch, /Be careful of the Blob!” Burt Bacharach co-wrote the piece, so it had good genes.

The song was the theme song for the movie “The Blob” which featured a giant jelly-like gob of bubble gum that just kept growing and growing and growing devouring all and everything in its path. Steve McQueen made his debut in the film as the fast-thinking teenager who said, “Fly the thing to the frozen Arctic, it’s afraid of the cold.” It worked, Steve went on to be a star and The Blob is still up there somewhere under the snow, waiting.

The Blob was released as a double feature with “I Married a Monster from Outer Space.” They don’t make movies like that anymore. Actually, I kinda miss ‘em.

Now, we have blogs. Whooo, Whooo. Whooo. I know, it sounds scary, but they really aren’t — most of the time. You’re reading one. Sorry, no catchy song here about growing globs of gum oozing from your laptop or smart phone. Just a blog.

The word “blog” is a combination of the two words, “web” and “log.” Take the “b” from web and add it to the “log” from log and you have a “blog.”

Why did they do that?

Because a blog is a WEB site that allows the site owner to LOG into the web each day (really as often as the owner likes) where that person in charge can post a piece of brand new writing for others to read and those others can post their own responsive comments (if the site allows comments to be posted – this site doesn’t to ensure all materials are suitable for young readers). Each blog post is dated and timed on a searchable LOG, which is another reason for the “log” in blog. It’s all very ordered and bloggy

A traditional web site is static in its content and does not normally change daily. You go there to read about things, but what you are reading may only change when, for example, the product or pricing changes.

It may take a lot of work to change the content on a traditional web site. Not so with a blog. A blog is changing all the time as new material is logged into the web through the blog portal. So, an active blog is constantly growing. It is devouring new facts and ideas and expanding with the thoughts, stories and word wanderings of its host. In theory, an over-active blog could take over the Internet and become “The Blob of the World-Wide Web.” Don’t worry. Most bloggers don’t write that much, but in potentiality, a blog could become the blob.

Today, most new web sites have a blog page where new material can be posted daily and a part of the site where the material does not change. This site is like that. You have a “Blog Posts” tab where daily during the week I place new material for you to read, and you have tabs for “Uncle Joe Stories” and “Mary & Other Stories” where the content only changes when a new story is added.

So, on this web site, you have both a fun Blog with constantly changing blog posts and a fixed Web Site with stories that stay the same. There is no blob here, nothing to stick to your shoe and eat the family car. And, I will say today what has never been said before for Uncle Joe Stories — here you can have “All the fun of a Blog without the Blob.”

Enjoy the blog, but watch your step, just to be on the safe-side – they say it’s getting warmer up there in the Arctic (whooo, whooo), just kidding, no blob here, I hope,

Grandpa Jim

The new Uncle Joe story is on the Home page.

Enjoy your weekend,

Grandpa Jim

On October 5, 2005, my wife died.

Moira was a gentle soul who only wanted to help others. She loved life.

On December 7, 2000, a neighbor called me at the office and said Moira had a very bad headache. I rushed home and rushed Moira to the emergency room. On the way, she said she could smell gasoline. Everything smelled normal to me. With a brain tumor, you can have a heightened sense of smell. That day, December 7, 2000, was the start of our battles with cancer.

December 7 is Pearl Harbor Day. On December 7, 1941, the bombs dropped on Pearl Harbor. War in the Pacific was officially declared later, but the war started there that day. It was the first of many battles. When I stood on the white memorial above the USS Arizona in the bright morning sun, I thought of December 7, 1941, and I thought of December 7, 2000. That was the day the battles started for us.

Almost five years later, on October 5, 2005, they stopped for Moira

They didn’t for me. I think they didn’t for many who loved her.

I needed time. For me, there were still battles to fight.

August 6, 1945 was the day the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The end of the war in the Pacific was officially proclaimed later, but the battling stopped there that day. In a bright flash of light, tragic as it was for so many and sad, new life began.

August 6 is the Feast of the Transfiguration. On that day 2,000 years ago, a humble fisherman from Galilee was shown to walk through great sadness, change and be robed in clothes as bright as a flash of lighting. His followers did not understand. They did not understand why there would still be battles, but they saw new life and found hope.

On August 6, 2011, Mary became my wife.

I saw a beam of sunlight brush Mary’s face and reflect off the white of her dress. On the arm of her brother, she turned to the center aisle. On each side, smiling faces turned to follow her steps. Eyes wide in wonder, I watched and waited. In the bright afternoon in front of our families and friends, we turned to each other and said “Yes.” On that day, August 6, 2011, our new life began.

There will still be trials, battles to be faced and fought. Moira taught me never to stop fighting. Beginning December 7, 2000 and through the battles that followed, I watched her grow calmer, sweeter. On that last day, October 5, 2005, before she left, I saw her smile. I see her glancing back with that soft smile. Moira showed me that the battles do end. There is new life and hope. On August 6, 2011, Mary helped me find that life and hope.

My life holds special days.

I see those days are not mine alone.

And, I am amazed at the gift a day can be.

Thank you,

Grandpa Jim

Earthquakes shake Dallas!!!

I was moody last Friday night and all day Saturday, acting strange and wanting to go to the grocery, buy extra food and hide it. Something was building up. I could feel it. Sunday morning, I woke up early and could no get back to sleep.

At 11 pm Saturday night, two earthquakes hit Dallas!!

The first in suburban Irving about 10 miles from downtown was 3.4 on the Richter scale. It was quickly followed by a 3.1 quake about 7 miles west of downtown Dallas. I live near downtown.

One article reported that serious damage can occur at 4.5 and injuries can occur at 5.0. These quakes were much lower in intensity and were reportedly felt only quite near their epicenters. On the web, there was a picture of a water bottle fallen over. From the words, I couldn’t tell if a worried dog or a seismic shake had toppled that mighty bottle, but it was an actual picture of a bottle of pure spring water and it was on its side on what appeared to be the floor. A picture is worth a 1,000 words.

For me, did “I feel the earth move under my feet” and “The sky come tumbling down, tumbling down?” Thank you, Carole King, that was a great song, but I did not feel a thing around me. On the other hand, inside me, “Did I just lose control?” Well, a little, some of the people around me might have commented, under there breath of course, that “He’s losing it.” “Did I feel my heart start to trembling?” Well, I was moody, pensive and worried.

I have heard it suggested that animals feel and react to the approach of a quake. Dogs bark and chase their tails. Rabbits retreat to their burrows and shut their eyes. Birds take off and fly the other way. Bees stop buzzing, huddle in their tree and talk honey. Why not people? Why wouldn’t some people, not all but a few, be effected and act strange in their own ways? I know I felt much better after I heard about the quakes on Sunday morning, but I was still nervous. . . .

The third earthquake hit late Sunday night!

Again in Irving, very near the site of the first quake, this shake was only 2.1 on the Richter Scale. I felt even better after it moved on. My old pre-quake self has returned.

After I received the news Sunday morning, I remember thinking “Earthquakes in Dallas, this will be big news in the morning paper.” Nope, I could not find an article on these disturbing events, not Sunday or Monday – in the paper. I had to go on the Internet to discover documentation verifying the occurrences. Why?

A surprise to me, I found that North Texas has been rattled by minor earthquakes since 2008. I thought “No way” and kept digging. Spot on! Within 100 miles of Dallas, there were 2 earthquakes in July 2012 (5.0 and 2.7), 6 in June 2012 (5.0, 4.0, 5.0, 2.1, 3.3 and 5.0), and 1 in January 2012 (4.36). 7 earthquakes were listed in 2011 (from 2.2 to 4.36 in magnitude), 1 in 2010 (2.1), 2 in 2009 (3.3, 3.0), and 1 in 2008 (3.0). If my count is right, this is 23 earthquakes (including the 3 over the weekend) within 100 miles of me in the last 4 years. By now, minor earthquakes are old hat, minor occurrences, fallen water bottles floating in a sea of more newsworthy events. That’s why the paper didn’t run a story.

For me, at least for the last 4 years, this comes as a surprise and an immense relief. I now have something to pin my mood swings on. I have “pre-quake syndrome,” in my medical parlance, “PQS.” The earth tenses, I tense. The ground relaxes with a quake, I relax with a sigh of relief. “It wasn’t me. Really. It was my PQS. You understand, don’t you?” Do you think she’ll buy it?

Maybe a little rock and roll can be a good thing, in moderation of course,

Grandpa Jim