I am mystified when it comes to awards. The Academy, The Emmy and The Tony are somewhat plausible. We pay for entertainment and are pleased to see entertainers awarded for their performance. But Olive Oil?

The DN proudly covered the awards recently given to local producers of olive oil. Our friends at Pacific Sun are one of the producers of this fine product and routinely win awards year after year for their efforts. We are happy for them, but how does the selection process work? Are there palates, so discerning, that they can tell a Tehama Olive Oil from, say, an Atascadero one…assuming they have Olive trees in Atascadero? The name of that city, by the way, translates loosely as “bog” and comes from the verb “atascar” meaning to “become stuck or hindered”…but, I digress.

It is not that I question such awards; I just marvel at how one oil can be selected from another. Maybe, as one ages, one cannot detect subtle differences.  Perhaps color and packaging are factors. Perhaps if an elderly gent was given…freely given, samples of various oils, a selection could be made and a personal endorsement or award given.  Just a thought.

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And speaking of awards, columnist Jon Carroll reminds us of a clam chowder contest in Carmel years ago, when 50 restaurants competed, yet the experts picked the wining entrant from Denny’s… even though the company admitted their clam chowder was a mix of soybean extract, fructose and other non clam ingredients…and a cheesecake contest in Ess Eff resulted in an off- the- shelf Sara Lee entrant tagged for 3^rd place. Tsk, tsk.

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If anyone were to ask you, George Will is a splendid columnist and commentator. That he is also a baseball filbert is an added bonus. The guy can really write and has moved, I think, from right of center to a more practical middle or nonpartisan position. He does not like nor support the current war in Afghanistan…and would, as many of us, like to stop the bloodshed, now. He is not an admirer of the military complex, per se.

He wrote recently, “The American undertaking in Afghanistan is a fool’s errand, and McChrystal (the recently demoted General) is breathtakingly foolish. It may be said that his defect is only a deficit of political acumen. Only? Again, the mission in Afghanistan is much more political than military.” He goes on to say, “President Obama is involved in nation-building in Afghanistan, which requires the wisdom of Aristotle, the leadership skills of George Washington and the analytic sophistication of de Tocqueville. But the grinding paradox of nation-building is this: No one with the aptitudes necessary for it would be rash or delusional enough to try it.”

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From the Friday DN Police Logs: “A man dressed in camouflage was reportedly yelling in Wal-Mart until he was arrested on unrelated warrants.” It has been my experience that current US Army Issue Camouflage outfits are designed to be worn in desert type surroundings. The arrested fellow, if wanting to continue his rant unmolested, would have been advised to don  a large mumu as is fashionable these days with some Wal-mart shoppers. It could have been a multi colored party frock or something designed to blend in the camping and hunting departments. Desert mufti was a fool’s choice.

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S. Orner had the answers to last week’s quiz: Snoopy allegedly flew a Sopwith Camel in his aerial duels with the Red Baron…and Apollo 19 LM was nicknamed Snoopy.

This week’s quiz: If you described an animal as “cervine” what would it look like.  Hircine? Larine? Ovine? Ovaltine?

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A wealthy man married a beautiful woman without knowing anything about her. She said as much but he replied, “No matter. We’ll learn about each other as we go along. That will be part of the fun.

On their first day in a fancy hotel, he led his bride to the indoor pool, climbed to the top of the diving board and dove in completing a double summersault. “I used to be an Olympic diving champion! I told you we would learn things about each other as we went along.”

is His  Without a word, his bride jumped in the water and completed 25 laps in the pool with apparent ease. Her husband said, “Wow! Were you also an Olympic champion?”

“No,” she said. I was a hooker in Venice, and I worked both sides of the canal.”

(To reply to this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)   “No

There are a lot of rumors around the country and here is one that you may have heard which I would like to help stop.

It goes something like this: “Say, you know what shortage of ham and bacon there is, well there was a driver of one of those big refrigerated trucks up in Redding the other day. He stopped at a café and ordered ham and eggs. When they told him they could not buy either ham or bacon he said that was a fine state of affairs because he had a  truck outside jammed full of hams and bacon for the Japs up at the Tule Lake detention center…and U.S. citizens can’t buy any!” This is not the truth and I know what I am talking about. Not only do we furnish the camp with meat but I visited the camp when we first contemplated selling meat to them.

Their meat consists of old cows, old mutton, bologna and pork from hogs they raise on camp garbage. The vegetables on their tables are for the most part carrots, turnips and beets.

They are fed in a series of mess halls and eat when it is ready if they want to eat at all. The only entertainment they had when I was there was home talent shows they arranged for themselves.

The American born Jap boys and girls consider themselves Americans and do not like our attitude in considering them as enemies. There is little need for guards, for while they are safe inside the reservation, they realize the odds would be very much against them if they were ever found outside. Because of this, there are only a few strands of barb wire around the camp and very few armed guards.

Speaking of meat, the federal government purchased two big freight cars of boned beef for export to one of our lend-lease friends, presumably Russia. The meat was purchased in Houston, Texas and was 28 days on its way to San Francisco. During this four week period, it was only iced twice. When the meat arrived in S.F. it was found to be in such poor condition that only 12,000 pounds was salvaged, and the rest, some 50,000 pounds was destroyed. The probable loss was between ten and twenty thousand dollars of your money and mine.

Dave Minch 1900-1964

Walking into our local Baskin Robbins shop, I instantly recognized Ernie White, though I had not seen him for about 35 years. That was the year we lost the meat plant.  Ernie had worked for us for many years as a truck driver and later as a meat salesman. What was astonishing was when I asked him how old he was, and he responded matter-of-factly “Ninety one”! Ernie looked to me much the same as when I knew him all those many years ago.

This fellow has found the fountain of youth. We chatted awhile until my every Wednesday chocolate milkshake was ready. I continued to marvel at his appearance. He volunteered that his doctor, during his annual checkup, voiced the same sentiment. Ernie did say his folks and siblings had lived to a ripe old age, so maybe it was just in his genes. However, I had to leave before interrogating him further.

I wondered, did he ever smoke or drink immoderately? He is still trim after all these years, so he must have been watching his diet. Perhaps there is no definitive moment in the lives of those who live long and appear fit.

TIME magazine came up with a lengthy quiz several months ago. If one answered truthfully about their life style and indulgences, the article suggested their scores could, fairly accurately, forecast how long they might remain on earth.  My test results suggest I would live another 14 years. If that were so, I would exceed Ernie White’s current age. With that encouragement, I decided not to  retire…and will invest in spare body parts if the need arises. If Ernie took the test, TIME might award him another 14 years or so.

The beauty of life, per se, is that we never know what joy or grief is around the next corner. It might be a notice that my TIME subscription has been extended another 14 years…or it may be that intersection in which I continue to make U turns in, is about to spell my demise. It is all in the cards, the fates, your astrological sign or your religion…or none of the above.

We don’t want to know what the future will bring, but Ernie White seems to be on the right track.

ODE TO THE BICYCLE

I carry the youth who have learned to ride,

I bear the burdens of age beside;

I make no distinction of sex or race,

Of the poor in rags or rich in lace;

I take them all at my quickest speed;

Out stripping th’ pace of the swiftest steed.

I travel at night as well as by day,

With searchlight attached to point out the way,

And my bell of warning the track makes clear

When pedestrians are loitering near.

Upon me the aged their youth renew;

As they journeyed through regions old and new

And the sickly forget their weary pains,

As the fresh blood tingles within their veins;

Adown the long hills see them coasting go,

Like schoolboys in winter over the snow!

To the sons of toil I’m a valued friend,

And I help the idle their time to spend;

I’m the school girl’s pet and the young man’s pride,

I’m a source of pleasure to groom and bride;

If to Niagara they cannot roam,

I furnish the falls, free gratis, at home.

B. Franklin Minch   1869-1936           (Grandfather exhibits a rare sense of humor)