Like Nothing Else: Ode to WD-40

This image and all at the end of Mark's post come from: http://www.stillad.com/ - an extremely unique resource for the advertising world...and people like us.

Is there a particular smell that you love?  Not necessarily one that transports you to a certain place and time but one that is here and now and….handy.  That’s how it is with me and the sweet, metallic smell of WD-40.  It’s like cinnamon rolls and coffee on the back porch except with a more purposeful air.

Here’s the deal.  Everyone knows there are two essentials for work to get done; duct tape and WD-40.  Every self-respecting garage has them, every mobile work unit from tow trucks to taco trucks has them.  Most pick-ups have them rolling around under the seat.  Maybe not city pick-ups, poor wannabes that never see a dirt road, but real pick-ups.  My question; why is WD-40 so essential?  Why not WC-20 or Fred’s Thread Lube?  The answer may be more sinister than you first imagine.

Duct tape comes from a variety of manufacturers but not many people get emotionally involved with the brand.  But there is no substitute for WD-40, the real deal, the true Bones McCoy.  First, it works great.  Squeaky hinges no more.  Seized threads freed.  Condensation rust melted away.  Other spray lubricants cannot hold their own against WD-40.  You spray twice as much for half the effect.

But there is something else, something in the smell that drives men to choose WD-40 and only WD-40.  I contend there is a secret ingredient, a pheromone designed to make a person desire one thing and one thing only in the spray lube category.  And it works.  While the WD-40 company laughs all the way to the bank, men are turned into helpless pawns of their olfactory senses.  I am no exception and so I offer this ode to my…my precious. Continue reading Like Nothing Else: Ode to WD-40

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Bud Manning, the “Wood Chip” Man

When Mick pulled into the garage on Saturday afternoon, the whole space immediately filled up with the beautiful smell of freshly chipped cedar mulch. We always keep the garage locked because following basic security tips helps protect tools and supplies stored inside. It was slightly damp, which was making the aroma stronger.  I think I walked into the garage three or four times that evening just to sniff the air.  Mick had made three trips to pick up free mulch that day, and had evidently talked to “the mulch guy” during each trip.

We don’t think the sign has changed since we first saw it: “FREE WOOD CHIPS 341-9120”

We built our house in the cross-timbers of far NE Edmond about eight years ago.  The territory out here is more spread out; a former farming community taken over by suburbanism.  But a few farms remain among the housing developments and one of them belongs to Bud Manning.  He lives on the NE corner of Sorghum Mill and Midwest Boulevard, just north of the Christmas Tree and Blackberry Farm.

According to Bud, “a few years back, some company was out here buildin’ or somethin’ and they were grindin’ trees on the properties.  They wanted a place to dump the wood chips Continue reading Bud Manning, the “Wood Chip” Man

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On the Horizon: He’s Called “Sim Man”

For many nursing students, just finding time to do their clinicals at a local hospital can be tricky. They have to find time around their busy schedules of being a student, working, and possibly being a parent. It’s not always easy. And then there’s the fear of “what if I screw up?” I know that would be one that would really freak me out…the possibility I could hurt someone before I was even licensed to practice any form of medicine. But there is now a solution that takes care of all of the issues.

In this week’s video blog, we show you the latest technology that is helping students practice their medical clinicals in the classroom, on their own time, and without the worry of injuring someone. He’s called SimMan.
~Alisa Hines

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Oklahoma Poets: Leah S. Taylor

Leah, during our 2011 philosophical summit. It appears we have reached the dessert course and are doing just fine. Sending you my love, Leah...RDK

Editor’s note: I now have an annual ritual, having completed it three years in a row.  During the week between Christmas and New Years, I meet with my former mentor, Dr. Leah Taylor, and my current neighbor, Lisa Red.  We talk about the year, waxing philosophical about the ground we’ve covered. Then we talk about the next year, waxing philosophical about the ground we hope to tread.  During our most recent meal, Leah shared that her brother was ailing.  It seems now, however, that he is near Death’s door.  When Leah feels the need to love someone very deeply, one of her ways is by writing them a poem.  She’s agreed to share the two poems she has written to support her brother in his process of dying.  One waxes philosophical about the ground from where he came, and one about the higher ground to where he is soon going. ~ [kelly]

To My Brother

You were a young boy

Your mother’s lap your own

Her loneliness your wound

Her universe your home

Now all the moons and stars

That know you in your story

Are thankful in their sending

For giving them their glory

You are healed, my brother

Love will sweep you into grace

As spirits come to join you

In the journey you now face Continue reading Oklahoma Poets: Leah S. Taylor

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My Little Victory Garden: Al Eschbach, Radishes and Beer

I’m writing this post with a healthy dose of dirt under my fingernails.  I just came from my garden, having discovered that my newly planted lettuce is now in the sprout stage.  The chard and spinach remain elusive, but I’m hoping another few good weather days will influence them to come up as well.  Today’s work included planting carrots, peas and a multitude of red and yellow onions.  I was thinking about how this would be the first year I abstained from planting white onions when my next door neighbor wanders over and says hello:

“Hi, neighbor!”

“Hey friend, how ARE you this fine, fine Sunday afternoon?”

“Good, now that my onions are planted.  I have reds and whites, but no yellows.”

“Hmmmmm…I have reds and yellows, but no whites.”

“So, we’re trading white and yellows, then, right?”

“Ex-ACT-ly.”

This Sunday afternoon banter along the retention wall between our two properties is a constitutional tenet.  It’s as much a part of our female connection as the “Hi ho, neighbor!” call is between our husbands.  If we’re outside in the same vicinity, we speak. Or wave. Or nod.  Today we spoke.  But then, came something extra.

“I just pulled up the remainder of my winter garden and have too many radishes.  Would you like a few?”

Al Eschbach: Photo retrieved from The Lost Ogle, June 2, 2011 post.

My antennae rose as I thought about the possibilities.  “Sure!” I replied.  Then, “radishes…radishes…radishes…”  My mind quickly whirled while I considered the possibilities.  And then the answer came to me.  In the back of my mind, I’ve always wanted to try Al Eschbach’s favorite food combination.  I surmised that TODAY must be that experimental opportunity.

I did some quick research to find out all the nuances I could about Eschabach’s food love and discovered a few things:

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.