I love graphs

I love graphs. It is an Engineer thing. These graphs explain so much!

Equal time farces. .

BTW, Being from TX, I have been told Texan and Engineer jokes all my life. I have never taken blond, Polish, Texas Aggie, Irish, etc. jokes as serious. Especially such exaggerated ones. Sorry if I upset you. Too much recluse time.

However, I do thing things like these VERY seriously.



Namaste and other salutations

I stole this from

In Hinduism it means “I bow to the divine in you.”

Namaste or namaskar is used as a respectful form of greeting, acknowledging and welcoming a relative, guest or stranger. It is used with good byes as well. It is typically spoken and simultaneously performed with palms touching gesture, but it may also be spoken without acting it out or performed wordlessly; all three carry the same meaning. This cultural practice of salutation and valediction originated in the Indian subcontinent.

Well, I found a new word recently at

Nerdmaste. The divine awkward in me honors the divine awkward in you.

“… Because nerds like us are allowed to be on ironically enthusiastic about stuff…
Nerds are allowed to love stuff, like jump – up – and – down – in – the – chair – can’t – control – yourself LOVE it. Hank, when people call people nerds, mostly what they’re saying is, “you like stuff.” Which is just not a good insult at all. Like, “you are too enthusiastic about the MIRACLE of human consciousness.”

Attributed to John Green

And, since the shoe fits, I will wear it.

August grins for you


Just wait, it gets better.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rArZl8vh8aY Look at the bottom of the screen to see how they make these.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BX3XSLUrETk Old Spice explained and more



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9OF4FB-I3E be very careful not to accept any ads for driver installer

And you really should see this video about love

Well, sonny, back in my day, I remember when…

A friend just sent my this email for old folks. Not very many of you are. Most of you will be glad that you were born later. <wink>

Someone asked the other day, ‘What was your favorite ‘fast food’ when you were growing up?’
‘We didn’t have fast food when I was growing up,’ I informed him.
‘All the food was slow.’
‘C’mon, seriously.. Where did you eat?’
‘It was a place called ‘home,” I explained. !
‘Mum cooked every day and when Dad got home from work, we sat down together at the dining room table,

and if I didn’t like what she put on my plate, I was allowed to sit there until I did like it.’ (and.. “they” took the dog away!)

By this time, the lad was laughing so hard I was afraid he was going to suffer serious internal damage, so I didn’t tell him the part about how I had to have permission to leave the table.

But here are some other things I would have told him about my childhood if I’d figured his system could have handled it:

Some parents NEVER owned their own house, wore jeans, set foot on a golf course, travelled out of the country or had a credit card.

My parents never drove me to school… I had a bicycle that weighed probably 50 pounds, and only had one speed (slow). (I had 2 feet and walked… slow)

We didn’t have a television in our house until I was 10. (I think I was maybe 9..
It was, of course, black and white, and the station went off the air at 10 PM, after playing the national anthem and epilogue; it came back on the air at about 6 am. And there was usually a locally produced news and farm show on, featuring local people…

Pizzas were not delivered to our home… But milk was.

All newspapers were delivered by boys and all boys delivered newspapers –My brother delivered a newspaper, seven days a week. He had to get up at 6 every morning.

Film stars kissed with their mouths shut. At least, they did in the films. There were no movie ratings because all movies were responsibly produced for everyone to enjoy viewing, without profanity or violence or almost anything offensive.

If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, you may want to share some of these memories with your children or grandchildren. Just don’t blame me if they bust a gut laughing.

Growing up isn’t what it used to be, is it?

MEMORIES from a friend:
My Dad is cleaning out my grandmother’s house (she died recently) and he brought me an old lemonade bottle.
In the bottle top was a stopper with a bunch of holes in it. I knew immediately what it was, but my daughter had no idea.
She thought they had tried to make it a salt shaker or something. I knew it as the bottle that sat on the end of the ironing board to ‘sprinkle’ clothes with because we didn’t have steam irons. Man, I am old.

How many do you remember?

Headlight dip-switches on the floor of the car.
Ignition switches on the dashboard.
Trouser leg clips for bicycles without chain guards.
Soldering irons you heated on a gas burner.
Using hand signals for cars without turn indicators.

Using a Mangle to iron.

My mother making me dresses to wear to school.

Cartoons shown before the news at the movies.

Older Than Dirt Quiz:
Count all the ones that you remember, not the ones you were told about. Ratings at the bottom.

1. Sweet cigarettes
2. Coffee shops with juke boxes
3.. Home milk delivery in glass bottles
4. Party lines on the telephone
5. Newsreels before the movie
6. TV test patterns that came on at night after the last show and were there until TV shows started again in the morning.
(There were only 2 channels [if you were fortunate])
7. Peashooters
8. 33 rpm records
9. 45 RPM records
10. Hi-fi’s
11. Metal ice trays with levers
12. Blue flashbulb
13. Cork popguns
14. Wash tub wringers

If you remembered 0-3 = You’re still young
If you remembered 3-6 = You are getting older
If you remembered 7-10 = Don’t tell your age
If you remembered 11-14 = You’re positively ancient!

I must be ‘positively ancient’ but those memories are some of the best parts of my life.

Don’t forget to pass this along!
Especially to all your really OLD friends….I just did!


I remember all of that, except that my mom never made me any dresses. Although she did by me a, “car coat.” We lived in Olympia Washington, which was relatively a hick town at the time. The late 1950s and early 1960s. And my mom bought the coat in Seattle, which was more advanced fashion wise. The tragedy was that car coats were a new thing. The latest fashion. Sadly, in Olympia, only girls were wearing them. So, naturally I went through a year of hell, being teased for wearing a girls coat.

Also, naturally none of the poop heads apologized the next year or the year after, when any boy that was cool, was wearing a car coat. It’s painful being a year ahead of your time.

Also, I don’t remember ever living anywhere that they had coffee houses, until I was much older. I guess the Pacific Northwest was too much of a backwater. Although we did have four TV channels. We had diners, restaurants, taverns, and cocktail lounges. I remember the first McDonald’s coming to the Northwest. I think the first sign said over 200,000 sold. It might’ve even been a smaller number at first.

And $.19 hamburgers. God they were awful! But they were cheap. Just a really crummy bun and a thin layer of ‘mystery meat.’ That’s all. No mayonnaise. No mustard. No plant products.

It was in Tacoma Washington, and near a really good hamburger joint, that had been run very successfully for years by a family. They had various superb hamburgers, ranging from about $.40 to a dollar. And the dollar was a significant amount of money in those days. I was making a dollar an hour as a janitor. Minimum wage. After high school I went to work at Boeing as an aero-mechanic and a riveter. For $1.87 1/2 /hr. I don’t know the best way to write that. I’m trying to say one dollar and 87 1/2 cents per hour. That was the union wage for entry-level. People were raising families on that wage.

Their hamburgers were really excellent, but they said they could not compete. Everybody had gone for the cheap, crappy, McDonald’s burger. The family was going to have to go out of business and find a new way to make a living. They had been running that diner for many years.

The hamburger joint in Olympia Washington when I was in high school, made a deluxe cheeseburger for a dollar. It was really good! Almost as good as the best I’ve ever had. And very consistently so. Back in those days I still ate animals.

The school cafeteria was using predominantly government surplus food. It came in large tin cans, and no one had any idea how to cook anything. They would take, I’m guessing here, a bunch of cans of meat related products, and dump them all in a big pot, with a lot of bread, and a lot of grease, probably lard or something, but I’m sure it was cheap grease. They would mix all this up and make like a meatloaf, that was about a half an inch thick. They baked it, and then they cut it into squares that were the size of a hamburger bun. Man was it greasy! Once I graduated from high school, I promise myself to never eat a square hamburger again in my life.

My grandmother and my mother made excellent meatloaf, and it was always one of my favorites back when I ate animals. But this stuff was vile and disgusting. Somehow I don’t remember any lettuce or tomato or onion and certainly no cheese, but yet they sold these cafeteria hamburgers that they made from government subsidy food, for a dollar. The same price as a delicious one down the street.

Unfortunately, we were not allowed off-campus during the school day, and the good hamburger joint was about 2 miles away. So if some sort of catastrophe happened, and you didn’t have your own lunch from home, and you had to buy one of their swamp burgers, or maybe sewer burgers would be a better name. Swamps actually serve a purpose. Anyway, God help you!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> also about old times

When I worked at Boeing, in the 1960s, I worked with a black man my age, who grew up in a very poor part of the black neighborhood in Seattle. The Central District. When he was about 12 or 14, everybody said he looked like he was 18 or 21, whatever the legal drinking age was. And they dared him to go into the cocktail lounge in his neighborhood and get a drink. Cocktail lounges were dark and mysterious. They were not allowed to have windows that people could see in from the street. But, a Tavern MUST have several large windows so that you could see in from the street. Go figure.

But, to an underage teenager, a cocktail lounge was obviously a den of iniquity! I don’t know what they’re doing in there, but it must be something evil, forbidden, and fun.

He took the challenge. He walked in and sat down, and the waitress came over and said, “What’ll you have?” As far as he could tell, she was going to serve him.

He had no idea of what ANY drinks were called. Absolutely none. He had not planned that far ahead.

But, he was in a cocktail lounge, so he asked for the only thing he could think of, “I’ll have a fruit cocktail please.”

(And he came from such a poor family, that he had never had a can of fruit cocktail either. So, he had no idea what it actually was. And in case only Americans use the term, it’s a can of a variety of cheap fruit, chopped into little cubes, less than a centimeter. It’s sweet and cheap. It always had a few maraschino cherries, and probably not one vitamin in the whole can.)

At which point she said, “I’ll need to see some ID.” And tossed him out when he didn’t have any.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> also about old times

As we were traveling around America, we would go to museums. Janet and I are big museum lovers. Naturally, and the southeastern United States, a lot of the museums are very caught up on Civil War stuff. One of them had a wooden orange squeezer, that is similar to the ones that you sometimes see now made out of plastic, and use for lemons. However, since it was made out of wood, it was clunkier, and it was made for oranges so everything about it was twice as big. My grandmother had the EXACT same model, all of the time I was growing up, and we used it frequently.

They said it was from the Civil War era, and was a potato ricer. I found someone, who found someone, who got me somebody in management and explained to them what it really was, and that I knew for certain because I grew up with one. I don’t know if they changed the display but I did all I could.

In another museum, I saw what was surely a very expensive lemon squeezer. It was clearly old, but in absolutely perfect condition. The framework was cast-iron, but the cup with the perforations, and the dome that squeezes and turns the lime or lemon inside out, were made out of white ceramic. Probably porcelain. Which is the reason that it survived so long. Or perhaps it was unused.

In Mexico, until the late 1980s, they always made them out of aluminum. And the lime juice would eat away the aluminum, and after a while some of the metal would fall out where the holes were. Who knows how much aluminum citrate, or whatever it was that was made by the effect of the citric acid against the aluminum, that we ate.

Well, in this museum, they had this antique, deluxe lemon squeezer with the porcelain working parts, labeled as a garlic press. So, again I tried to tell someone what it really was.

I appreciate that some young whippersnapper is just trying to do the best they can. But that’s what old geezers are for. To set them straight.

Speaking of which, I just saw an interesting story. Who knows if it’s true. But I like the sound of it.


Back in the 1980s when my daughter was three. We were watching MTV. The Bangles, “Walk Like an Egyptian” came on and my daughter just stood there staring at it. When the video was done she turned to me and said, “We didn’t sing or dress like that back then.”

Slightly amused I laughed and asked her to sing for me the way education saying back then. She proceeded to sing a strange tune in a haunting melody that sent chills down her spine.

Later she drew a picture of, “her dress” and I started crying. It was too ancient and intricate to be bullshit. Especially from a three-year-old.


FYI, not that you or anyone else needs to agree with me, but in the early 1970s, I used to work with a scientist that had recently done (at the time) a lot of research on reincarnation, using hypnosis to regress people back and help them to remember past lives. He was a very bright man, and sincere in his work. He was not a BS artist at all. He was only trying to find out if there was anything to all the hubbub. He was excruciatingly careful to never suggest anything to the people. He only asked, “What do you see now? What are you doing now?”

He told me gobs of stories, and very quickly I was totally convinced about the validity of reincarnation. And then he said, “But, we have many accounts that we cannot reconcile. For example in the thousands of people that we studied, many of them were Napoleon or Joan of Arc or some famous person in a past life. They often give us incredible detail, that no one but a scientists, historians, etc, would know. Stuff that we verified as being true and accurate, but that you could not possibly have made up. None of our test subjects, had the right sort of background to have known any esoteric accurate details. So, they are tapping into something. Some sort of database of things that happened in the past. That we can be certain of. The thing that were not sure of is whether that was actually their life or not. And if it was, then why do we get multiple famous people? We checked on their genealogy, and in this lifetime, they show no ancestors that could possibly have been descendants of the famous person. But, I am just researching it to try to learn more about it. It really makes no difference to me one way or the other. If we have one life or many, why would we want to live our present life, anything less than the best we can possibly do? So, it makes no difference to me which is the true answer. But I am looking for it.”

Of course, the whole woo woo field is just a vast money machine for charlatans and conmen. So it gets hard to strain the truth from the fantasy.

But, I know several people who were, “killed” in accidents, but chose to come back. They tell amazingly similar first-hand accounts. So, it is far easier for me to believe that when we die, is not just that ‘the lights go out’ and that is the end of the program. Play the national anthem and go to Test pattern.

No. Something keeps going.

Similarly, I believe in ghosts. But not that they are evil or scary. Just dead. And very much like the American TV program, “Ghost Whisperer” (if you leave out the scary parts) they are just people that are confused and don’t understand that they’re supposed to pass on to another dimension. Or have some important reason why they are hanging around.

But that’s just me. And it is not contagious. So don’t worry.

Ginger and the White Death

Ever since I was little, I have had trouble with motion sickness. Mal de mer.

This has always been annoying, for everyone concerned. But, it became obvious that I needed to deal with the problem, when we left on our first long trip, in 1977. We were a month too late leaving that year, and we waited in Neah Bay, WA, for a weather window to go to San Francisco. But there weren’t any. It looked like we could be stuck there till Spring. So, we finally just left during the tail end of one nasty set of weather, with the weather guessers promise, that the next cataclysm would not arrive for a couple of days. At which time we would be further down the coast, and well offshore.

The Pacific Coast from San Francisco north to Canada, especially near Neah Bay, is a graveyard of sailing ships, that were too close to the coast, and could just not escape being blown ashore. So we went out about 100 miles at the furthest.

When the oncoming gale hit, I was worse than useless. I was a liability. I’m sure that the only reason that I was not thrown overboard after about a day of uselessness, was that I’m too heavy. And they could not get enough people around me, inside the cabin, to carry me out and toss me over. Being big is not all bad.

Happily, it did not occur to them to just dismember me into more manageable, easily carried pieces.

I became an expert on anti-nausea medication and even woo woo treatments.

On that subject I would say the two most important things that I learned, are that Stugeron 25 mg, is for almost everyone that uses it, a miracle drug. But, you should start taking it the night before if possible. Because if your digestive system shuts down, as it tends to do in the early stages of mal de mer, the Stugeron cannot get into your bloodstream, and does you no good whatsoever. You can however sometimes get relief while you are already at sea, if you appreciate that this situation looks like it’s developing into a Stugeron time, and take it as soon as you realize you’re going to need it. This will often work. AND, after two or three days at sea, you can usually stop taking it, because you now have your sea legs. All the other medication that I ever tried, prevented sea legs from forming. So as soon as you stopped taking it, you are puking again.

The second thing is WHATEVER you decide to carry for protection, try it on land, when you are not unusually tired, or feeling funny in any way. Everything is wonderful in your life. Then take the normal doses for perhaps 36 hours and see if anything changes. Some useful medications practically give you narcolepsy. You just can’t keep your eyes open. So how are you going to stand a watch?

Back in the 70s NASA came out with a prescription combination of an upper and a downer, that the astronauts used. Naturally I got my doctor do give me some. Unfortunately, I discovered that I, and many other people, find that it MAKES them have vertigo on land! It makes you feel queasy.

The other man on board and I had taken it shortly before we left, and we didn’t throw up, but we felt really miserable until we got to the next port and stopped taking it. We were storm bound for a couple of days, and then the weather guesser said that we had a weather window, so we took our pills, and started getting the boat ready for sea.

But when we got up on the cabin top to take off the sail cover, we could see GIANT whitecaps, looking a lot like the Rocky Mountains, all down the saw tooth horizon. Not our favorite kind of weather especially when the wind is straight on the nose.

Happily the captain decided to wait another day, so we went for a walk. And both of us noticed that our pills made us feel VERY wobbly.

This was not the same as land sickness. That is when you have been at sea for several days and come back to shore. Living on the boat seems perfectly normal, but when you step on land, it feels like the sidewalk is going up and down.

This was different. Our heads were spinning.

I had a almost identical experience with scopolamine patches.

But, for me Stugeron 25 mg, works fantastic. It’s chewable, with a kind of neutral taste. No sleepiness. Just makes me immune to the motion. Do you want me to change the oil? Sure. Hand me the roll of paper towels.

But, the reason this all comes up was, that when we are in the states I buy a pound or two of crystallized ginger. This really helps settle my stomach, when I have the occasional small concern. So, I like to keep it around.

And, yes, I know about the little electric bands that are advertised to protect you from seasickness. I have some friends that used one when they were caught in almost a survival storm, in the Gulf of Mexico. She said that she had it turned up to the, “Grill a Buffalo” setting. Full military power. And then she lay in a fetal position on the cabin sole for about a day. Feeling absolutely miserable the whole time. Punctuated by every few seconds, she would get this profound electric shock, that would make her twitch all over. Electric chair time.

She said that it probably works for the seasickness. The main thing that was worrying her was the certain knowledge that she was about to die a horrible death. But she survived. And they still sail all over everywhere. Another learning experience.

The NSAID’s that I had to take for my dislocated rib, really messed with my digestive system. As soon as I stopped taking the proton pump inhibitor, my stomach began to bother me quite a bit. Since I REALLY wanted to stop taking the darn proton pump inhibitor, I would use occasional doses of crystallized ginger, to get through this transition period while my innards healed. Combined with frequent meals of carefully chosen foods, to give my system something to do other than dissolve itself.

That meant that I now was low on crystallized ginger, with no plans to return to the US just yet. So, I figured, they have ginger in the market here. How hard can it be to make my own? Actually it was not hard at all.

The fiddly part is peeling all the ginger. It does not grow in the shape of a smooth monolith, like a quart jar. And, of course, I want to ONLY remove the peel, so I tried to be very careful. Especially after I broke my only ceramic vegetable peeler.

I found several recipes online, each of which was quite different, but basically the same. So, I peeled and thinly sliced some ginger. 500 g, about a pound. And then I boiled it for about 40 minutes in water.

And then the idiots that wrote the recipe, said throw away the water! HELLO!! Haven’t you heard of ginger tea. That’s what that water is. In fact it’s like superstrong ginger tea. Atomic powered ginger tea! Even I have to dilute it. But I’m not about to throw it away. Put a little in the water that I use when I cook rice. But, keep it to use.

This resulted in me having about 350 g of boiled ginger to which they wanted me to add 350 g of sugar. Known in health food circles, as The White Death!

Being, at least mostly, a Good Boy, I have probably only eaten a gram or two of White Death in the last year and a half. But, this is for a good cause. I was creating medicine, and not a delivery system for White Death.

So I cooked it for about the time they said, but I noticed that the sugar syrup was getting much thicker than seemed like a good idea. I’m no brilliant chef, but I know that when you have boiling sugar water, that is starting to look quite thick, that when it cools, that you are going to have hard candy. And my previous crystallized ginger was leathery and chewy and tender.

So, I aborted the instructions, and they said to put it on a cooling rack, that you have sprayed with Pam or some similar nonstick spray. Naturally, I have neither one, but it seemed really simple. The crystallized ginger that I have always had is coated in crystals of sugar, White Death. So I just finished out some of the ginger. Encouraged it to drain as much as I could, and then dropped it in a bowl, with a thin layer of sugar in the bottom and kind of tossed it around to get it coated.

Then I would fish it out and put it on a plate to cool. Which brings me to the main reason I felt compelled to write about this interesting experience.

We have hundreds of wonderful, charming, interesting friends in America. And some of them, while we were homeless in the USA, trying to help Janet, wanted us to housesit for them. And some of those people had cats. And most of those people had litter boxes.

The similarity to fishing the pieces of ginger out of the sugar, and servicing the litter box, struck me as quite startling. Fortunately, I usually have pretty good control over what sort of memories I associate. Otherwise, that might’ve been the end of my crystallized ginger right there.

By the way, I tried some after it had completely cooled, and I pronounce it to be every bit as good, as the stuff from Whole Foods. Although, if I could buy some, I would rather buy it than make it. I’m a cheapskate, but ginger is expensive to begin with, so the price of the finished product from Whole Foods, did not seem a bad trade-off at all.

Be careful with crystallized ginger though, it is a very efficient White Death delivery system. You did today. Wear it tomorrow.

What a German whistles in the shower.

I was just up at the shower block, having a shower, and I heard an amazingly deep voice, ‘singing in the shower.’

I cannot be sure who it was. The only person that I know in the Marina that has a voice that deep, is a German friend that had entered the building just before I did. I had stopped and visited with a couple of friends that I ran into near the entrance, and so I do not know for certain if my German friend was the singer. But I assume that he was.

Perhaps you can imagine my surprise when he finished singing a German song, and he switched to whistling, “The Battle hymn of the Republic.”

Somehow I was surprised that the German would have the words of that song close at hand:

“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
“He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
etc, etc

And I wondered if there was a German song with the same melody. They’re not many words when you whistle.

So I have a look at this link:

I did not read the whole thing but it looks like there is not a similar German song.

Why would I even wonder such a thing? Because I remember learning that the American National Anthem has a British melody.

And, COMPLETELY changing the subject. But, it has to do with melodies that have vastly different meanings to different cultures.

The common melody or riff, “Shave and a haircut, two bits.”

Is commonly heard with Americans and Britts knocking on the bow of my boat. However, when we were in Mexico, we were told that it was an almost unimaginably offensive insult. I will let you research what it means, because it is too gross to be published here. But it involves the insulted person’s mother being a prostitute and gets much worse from there.

As a group, Mexicans revere their mothers, perhaps second only to a devout Catholics opinion of the Virgin Mary.

We were told, and I believe, that if, for example, you were stuck in traffic, and honk your horn in that manner, and a Mexican, who thought your honking at him, got out of his car and shot you. That all the police would do, would be to help push your car out of the road until the tow truck could come.

As a traveler, even within the United States, one always takes a chance on unintentionally offending another culture, that has different rules.

I do my best to not do so, but my backup defense is that, “Hey, I’m not from around here. Please cut me some slack.”

Years after visiting French Polynesia, I learned that, apparently, in that beautiful land, is extremely rude to talk to a person, while wearing a hat or sunglasses. Anything that covers your face and head. They want to be able to see you when they talk to you. I wish I had known that when we were there.

I am not offended when someone does that with me, however, I do find it weird to be talking to someone with opaque sunglasses on, and therefore I cannot see their eyes. I wonder how often I forget, and do it to someone else.

I worked with a man one time that told me he had previously worked with a woman who had grown up in an area where women wore modesty veils. Only their eyes showed to the public.

Now that she was in America, apparently she was comfortable not wearing any head covering at all. So, at first, she looked totally ‘normal.’

Yet, he noticed within minutes of meeting her that there was something strange about her. Not bad, just something unusual. But he could not figure out what it was. He had known her for some time before he finally found out about her past life and then the pieces fell together. She had VERY expressive eyes, but the rest of her face was not very expressive. In her formative years it had not needed to be. Or, at least that was his theory.

Human expression is very complicated. Or, at least I think it is. And I was really impressed with how well Janet could sometimes mimic someone’s expressions and mannerisms when she was making a comment about them. At those times she was absolutely frighteningly good.

I also respect greatly, actors and their directors, when a male or female actor, conveys a million, powerful words, in one brief expression. How do they know how to do that?

Poker players and people pretending to be psychic are very good at reading the subtleties of expression. Kind of the basis of the Sherlock Holmes series.

But, I need to get back to organizing my computer data. It has been a glacially slow process.

Back in the 1990s with my first computer, I understood the idea of backing things up to CDs, DVDs or, later other hard drives. But, I never got around to ‘throwing out the trash’ and combining the bits that I did want to save, into one collection, where I could find things I want them. And very often I backed up a hard drive, that already had backups on it. So I had backups of my backups. But, do you think I could find anything very easily?

A year ago I had something like 12 TB of backups on 10 hard drives and countless CDs and DVDs with similar collections. I have, so far, boiled that down to about 400 GB of data. Is that just over 3% of the original size?

I still have lots of useless files to be cleaned out of that 3%. But, the stuff that I know how to automate, to sort hundreds of gigabytes automatically, with the computer just running unattended for 24 or 48 hours, has been done.

Now I’m into the, ‘opening each folder to see what is in it,’ and all too frequently opening each file. This is slow work, but I only have 111,000 files, and 43,000 folders left. And, hopefully most of those I want to keep. Time will tell.

Have a wonderful day…

“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
“He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored….