Cate Mueller
Web Designer, Editor, Reporter, Photographer
Box 619 Bouse, AZ 85325-0619
Here are links to some of my
websites:
Bouse RV Mobile Service & Parts
What else does Cate do? Check out her résumé
Check out some of my photos. These are low-resolution images for quick-loading.
Bizarre Bouse! May 17, 2011 Several months after I moved to Bouse in 2007, strange things began appearing in and around my house. I found a Robert Heinlein novel one morning when I made the bed. I changed those sheets plenty of times without finding any sci-fi. Odd. I don’t read Heinlein. One night I let down the blinds and a tiny sombrero tumbled out. The little hat gave me the giggles. When the cat came to see why I was laughing, I put the hat on his head and laughed until I was nearly blue.
The blinds had been going up and down daily for months without a single funny hat trick. I vacuumed the bedroom and suddenly there was an awful rattling inside the machine. I turned it off and gave it a shake – a shiny brass key fell from the sweeper. I tried the key in all the locks but it did not fit anywhere. I turned on the oven and black smoke filled the kitchen. The broiler pan was so greasy I thought it might burst into flames. I use the oven all the time, but not the broiler. Broiler-ing is beyond my skill-set, but still I keep it clean. (Cat, what are you up to when I’m away?) Outside I find seashells, tiny toys, glass bottles, rusty things and beads. Every time the wind blows this acre of sugar sand shifts and I find little (plastic? Bakelite?) beads.
As I write this, something just made a loud smack! on a snare drum. Dogs woke and jumped to their feet barking but there was nothing near the drum. April 24, night — A faucet outside turned on full blast. Water gushed loud enough to hear it inside the house over the surround sound. I rushed out to turn it off — This is a desert! No wasting water! — and looked around for the culprit. Nothing. May 16 — I found a head. It’s ceramic, or perhaps porcelain. Ay, yi, YI — what’s next?
Is it me, or is there something goofy about this area? Take a look at my photos and please! Tell me what this all means? # # # |
What to feed a death row inmate
January 17, 2011
Steak, bacon, fried okra / potatoes / eggs and ice cream are the most commonly requested last meals for Arizona death row inmates, according to the Arizona Department of Corrections website.
With almost everyone on the planet casting the death sentence upon Tucson shooter Jared Loughner many of us are speculating over what his last meal might be and hoping it will be served very, very soon.
I have a better idea.
Let the condemned killer order his last meal. Summon excellent chefs to freshly prepare the meal in the jail facility, right before the killer’s eyes and nose. Let the chefs taste often and make many “Mmmmmm!” moans of pleasure. Go crazy with the deep fryer. This should be done slowly to tantalize the killer’s empty stomach.
Maybe spread a fine linen tablecloth and light some candles. Use silver and fine China.
When at last the meal is ready duct-tape the killer’s mouth shut and let the jail staff dine. Let him watch, and smell, but leave the duct tape in place. Polish off every morsel.
Done? Let ’im swing, as the hangman said, and everyone goes home happy. Staff gets fed; the execution is sterile and costs nothing.
This will only work for a short time until word gets out and condemned killers order fried worms for their last meal. Then we will have to rely on family advice – or read the books these death row inmates write during their decades in prison.
“Mmmmmmm,” just a thought.
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Parker 250 – Up Close and a Little Personal!
January 26, 2011
I heard screaming racecars when I was outside hanging laundry. Race day! I had forgotten the Parker 250 was today.
The Bouse bend on the desert racecourse is only a few miles from my house so I jumped in my Jeep to go have a look. A lone racecar bumped and bucked along the desert track next to Swansea Road as I drove toward the Bouse spectator area – which was empty save for one truck teeming with tires.
Dang, I missed the race. Whatever. It was a nice day for a little desert drive so I continued down the rutted dirt road.
Soon I felt my jaw jarring from the ruts and looked for a place wide enough to turn around. Then I saw the racecars – coming up behind me and fast! I pulled to the side as far as possible and closed my window.
Voom! Voom! Voom! Racecars roared past, pebbles peppered the Jeep.
Close one! I took a deep breath. Well, yay, I got to see some of the race. A little more closely than I would have liked, but still, yay. I wondered why the racers were on the road instead of the track.
I found a wide spot, turned around and headed home. Suddenly more racecars came screaming around a bend and sped right toward me.
Yikes! Am I on the course? And, worse, going the wrong way? I pointed the Jeep out into the desert and hoped I wouldn’t high-center and get stuck with my ass right in their way.
Voom! Voom! Voom! At least the drivers waved. I think.
Whew! Back onto the road and out of there in a hurry. As I neared the spectator area I saw what I had thought was a drainage spur. Turns out the racecourse joins the road just past the Bouse spectator area. Who knew?
Lesson learned: Read the signs! With the Parker 425 (www.bitd.com) coming February 4 – 6, race fans, do not boldly go where no woman should dare to go! Do not pass GO…park in the spectator area and stay there!
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Crash!
March 9, 2011
“INFILTRATION ALERT! VIRUS ATTACK!” screamed a sudden flashing red screen on my laptop computer, followed by, “Windows has detected a Trojan Horse virus. Run anti-virus software?” Yes and No options popped up on more red windows. A stream of .exe files swarmed across my screen, followed by a new window that said, “Scanning…deleting files.”
“GAK! No! Stop! Do not delete anything!” I hit the panic button off switch and felt my heart drop. “No-o-o, this cannot be happening.”
I waited. Took a deep breath. Said that word we all say when things go astray. Gingerly restarted the computer.
“VIRUS ATTACK! Warning – 34 threats detected,” flashed angry-looking red screens.
I said that word again. Dead laptop. I wondered when I last backed up my files. Again with that word! I dug out my backup hard drive and plugged it into a friend’s computer.
Last backup: July, 2010. [Word!]
The next two weeks were a blur of tears as I mourned the loss of seven month’s work. Gone! All my documents, spreadsheets, pics, PhotoShop work, tax info, lawsuit files, websites, and all the columns I wrote for ParkerLiveOnline – gone!
And it was my own fault! Virus attack aside, I should have been more vigilant about backing up my files. I know better – I once worked in a data center making huge reel-to-reel data backup magnetic tapes.
Tapes! That will date me.
I threw my dilemma to the universe via Facebook:
Cate Mueller > “Does anyone know how to get rid of a Trojan Horse virus?”
and received helpful responses like:
John Wright > “Get a Mac.”
Finally I stopped sobbing and mustered the courage to face the inevitable professional diagnosis. I dragged my ruined laptop into HapiFace HQ in Parker and, blinking hard, said, “C-c-c-can you fix this?”
HapiFace HQ proprietor Joni Lueken asked me a few questions, then smiled gently and said, “I feel confident I can recover your files.”
My heart soared. And now we know the reason Joni calls her shop HapiFace. I walked out with a healthy laptop and a great, big HapiFace! Thank you, Joni.
Now, everyone stop what you’re doing and BACK UP your work!
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Welcome (?) to Quartzsite!
March 17, 2011
"What’s the name of the place I’m going? Cortez? Courtside?” I asked my friends as I climbed into my new home – an old RV.
“Quartzsite! RVers’ Mecca. Bye, have fun!” My friends bade me a happy 40th birthday and a fond farewell and I set sail as a brand new full-time RVer.
One flat tire and two sleepless roadside nights later I crossed into Arizona over the Colorado River east of Blythe. The landscape changed instantly from cultivated green farms to naked craggy brown desert peaks. Fifteen miles later I crested a range and the landscape changed again, just as instantly.
The desert ahead was a sea of white. White tarps on hundreds of vendor booths, white aluminum on thousands of RVs, white Kool Kover shelters and as I pulled off Interstate 10 I saw herds of white-haired people walking around browsing.
So this is Quartzsite!
I pulled into an RV park on Main Street and walked into the office. It was crowded with more white-headed people, all with a similar hairstyle; curly and short, like poodles. Perhaps it was a club.
A lady behind the counter helped all the poodle-heads and a few more who came in after me. Finally I stepped up to the counter. The lady gave me a dirty look and turned away.
I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me, ma’am?”
The lady turned toward me and scowled.
“Um, how much is it to stay here?”
“You can’t stay here,” she non-answered and turned away again. What the heck?
“Excuse me?”
“WHAT!” She whipped around and snapped, “You’ll have to leave.”
“What?” My jaw dropped.
“This is a fifty-five plus park,” she said.
Fifty-five…? The speed limit? On these dinky streets?
“Out!” she barked.
Out I went. Gee whiz, welcome to Quartzsite. I headed out into the desert to dry camp. I learned later that “55+” means “for grown ups only.” What a concept – that you have to be a certain age to stay somewhere!
Turns out Miss Poodle-head did me a huge favor: I never again bothered to try staying in an RV park and by not paying any rent for six years I saved enough money to buy a house. Thanks, lady!
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Re-Discovering AM Radio
March 30, 12011
When I was a child AM radio was all there was. That probably dates me worse than admitting to making reel-to-reel tapes, but I’ll own it. When FM appeared, that was it — I was rocking!
When I landed in Quartzsite ten years ago as a brand-new RVer I found the mother of all swap meets. I could not help buying a few toys, including a portable radio with rechargeable batteries. Sadly, the FM receiver did not work — waaah, no music! Oh, well.
Being too young to stay in RV parks meant living in a borderless, dry-camping, no-television environment … and sleepless nights. Lying there awake I toyed with my little radio and re-discovered the AM band. Cool! I listened to all-night news stations around the West. I found Art Bell and his Coast-to-Coast AM — strange stories and interesting listening, but the alien and ghost tales did nothing to help my insomnia.
I learned Parker had an AM station during RadioShack’s customer appreciation party where I met Keith and Juanita. At the time their live remote trailer said, “Learn Broadcasting.” Naturally, this blonde assumed they ran a disc jockey school.
I asked Juanita if the curriculum was difficult.
“The first rule is: ‘Don’t eat anything before you go on.’ But, we’re not really a school,” Juanita corrected me. “It’s a radio station: KLPZ 1380 AM.”
Back in Quartzsite that night I tried to find KLPZ. AM stations in Albuquerque, Denver, Salt Lake City, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego and Art Bell’s creepy “Kingdom of Nye” came in great but a station only 30 miles away? Not on my little radio. Darn! It would be nice to hear local news and weather.
Finally, one night about 0’dark:30 I found the station. A faint, fuzzy voice said, “You’re listening to 1380 AM Country.” [Yay!]
But then the voice drawled, “Country radio K – H – E – Y.” [Huh?]
“El Paso, Texas!” [Oh. No wonder I didn’t recognize any advertisers.]
Now I’m in Bouse and KLPZ comes in great — after 7 a.m. Winter mornings when the signal does not reach this far I hear K-HEY. It’s now a sports station featuring two guys having frantic sports conversations — but not with each other. How odd. Do people actually want to listen to blithering? Not me — give me the KLPZ zoo-crew!
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Swansea Scratching
April 18, 2011
I have an idea for a fun, furry fundraiser, providing you gentlemen don’t mind being a little itchy.
Autumn 2011 marks the 40th anniversary of the filming of Day of the Wolves, a movie shot in nearby Lake Havasu City and Swansea copper mining ghost town.
The plot involves a mysterious and greedy mastermind who recruits distant thieves to rob an entire town. None of the thieves know each other and are instructed to grow big beards before being transported to a remote desert area [Swansea] for training. Full, thick, bushy facial hair is the thieves’ disguise — from the town folks as well as each other.
Now, here is the fundraising part: In honor of the film’s 40-year anniversary, what about a beard-growing contest in October after summer’s heat? Say, $20 buys a place in the contest and the pot could be raised by gents confident in their face-fluffing abilities. Our local historical societies could benefit, or any organization that steps up and organizes this Day of the Wolves Scratch to Raise Scratch event.
A search on Wikipedia shows Day of the Wolves is no longer under copyright protection. That means it is public domain — perhaps we can find a place to show the movie, the fellas can show off their fur and the audience could cast Best Beard Ballots. Winner takes half the pot.
No stage beards!
Beard growing is beyond my skill-set, but fellas, does this sound like fun? [scratch, scratch, scratch]
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