Busted

A few weeks ago Peggy and I were driving home from Santa Fé, New Mexico. We passed through Oklahoma on the Kilpatrick Turnpike. I am totally familiar with toll roads and auto payment lanes, but the signage in Oklahoma confused me. I saw a sign saying PIKEPASS and decided yep I want to go on the Pike. I blasted past the CASH exit at seventy when I realized my I-PASS wasn’t going to work. Had I made a sharp right turn across three lanes in a flash, I might have made it into the pay lane. Oops, Oh Well.

By the time I arrived home a week later, a letter waited for me from PIKEPASS. They had my complete name and address, the exact date, and time of the violation documented in a very nicely and politely written letter of reprimand.

I called them this morning to ask what the toll charge was. I gave them the Transaction Number and a nice voice asked, “is it a white Toyota Avalon?” She very politely forgave the charge. I asked the nice young lady what technology they used to catch my violation. She answered, “a camera took a picture of your rear license plate as you went through.”

I commended her on Oklahoma’s speed and efficiency in apprehending a violator. I said if this happened in Illinois, I wouldn’t get a letter for ten years. She laughed politely. I commented that I didn’t want to take the chance of getting a ticket on my next trip through and have the cuffs thrown on me for having a moving violation on record. She assured me that wouldn’t happen.

The reason I am relating this incident is that Big Brother is watching us with capabilities that are unbelievable.

Doesn’t it make you wonder what else Big Brother does to creep into our private lives?

She Puts Me To Shame

When I was a kid, I lived to fish. I write about my fishing experiences extensively in my book Jun-e-or, Reflections of Life in the nineteen Forties and Fifties (click the link on the right). I will only say those experiences soured me on the sport.

I have seven grandchildren and three step-grandchildren whom I love equally. They range in age from 6 to 33. Of the ten, guess who the best fisherman are? Yep, the youngest ones. For some reason unknown to  me they love the sport. The secret is their parents encourage them. My Dad tolerated my interest at best, my Mom loved to cook and eat them. My Grandfather fostered my interest in fishing the most. It doesn’t matter, I don’t fish anymore.

Yesterday, my grand-daughter Jenna Rose called to tell me a fish story. Yes, at age eight, she is becoming a catch and release fisher. My two grandsons in Michigan ages six and eight are also big time sports fishers.

My heart jumps with joy when they send me photos like the one below to show me their prizes.

Largemouth Bass Taken 4 July 2012 in a C&R pond in New Lenox, IL.

Can you believe that? This little girl loves catching the really big ones. I can’t get over it.

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