Velkommen*

*Welcome,

It's been a quiet week here in Junction City. Strains of Garrison Keilor (Prairie Home Companion with its news from Lake Wobegon) just wafted through my head. I found some old cassette tapes and have listened to that master storyteller.

I drove our pickup truck to my dental appointment because I wanted to listen to tapes. I had broken a tooth, but now I have a beautiful totally white crown—no more need for a gold base anymore, so it seems. I don't want to bore you with my tooth story, but the making of the crown was fascinating, especially for an old dental assistant from the dark ages.

No more taking impressions with gunky stuff in trays that stretch the limits of your cheeks. No more need to cast plaster in the gel mold. No more hand-carving of the wax image that will be your new tooth. And no need for melting the wax to cast the gold that will make your crown.

It's done on the computer, with pictures and a CNC mill in the back room. Water sprays on a block of porcelain the size of a sugar cube while burrs carve out your beautiful tooth. (One visit, you're done.)

And all this high-tech stuff is right here in Junction City.

Saturday, (I guess it wasn’t so quiet) we took in the Scandinavian Festival that happens every year here in Junction City—except for the years when viruses shut it down. 

The temperature was reasonable, a bit hot, but okay. My main reason for going is for the fresh potato chips. Well, I throw in a bratwurst with sauerkraut, and dinner is handled. The potato chips are the best. A genius man with a cutting device places a potato on a spit, affixes his hand drill to a rotating cutter, and zip he spiral-cuts an entire potato. They fry it up in oil (that has to be reasonably fresh for the Festival only lasts four days.), add salt and viola', a treat.

 

Sixty-one years and counting.  

Between 1890 and 1900, thanks to the completion of the railroad, Scandinavian immigrants, tired of droughts and grasshopper plagues of the Midwest, came looking for a place more like home. 

They found it in the Pacific Midwest.

In 1961 after the freeway cut off visitors to Junction City, residents organized the first Scandinavian Festival.

 Four thousand visitors were expected. Ten thousand came.

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Chinese Year of The Tiger

 

I couldn't believe it. One day in a wooded area behind a motel giving Gabe, my Rottweiler, his morning potty break, I came face to face with a TIGER. Really, in Redbluff, California, A TIGER?

It was small for a tiger, I guess big for a "Jungle Cat." That's what his owner called out to my exclamation, "What's that?" The Jungle Cat was striped like a tiger, about ocelot sized, and bigger than Gabe. 

Luckily the Jungle Cat was on a leash, and luckily Gabe was digging in the bushes and didn't see him. And I beat feet out of there with Gabe in tow before he saw the cat.

Well, that was an adventure. Surprises come with adventures. If we know what's going to happen, it's a vacation.

So, here, it appears that my Money Newsletter is an adventure.

I had set it up for twelve weeks, twelve issues, and then SCREECH!

I thought, if I'm on a roll, I don't want the rest of the information dribbled out over 12 weeks. The value of information is in keeping one's energy high and motivation higher. That way, we will have results instead of, well, there's another do-it-yourself piece of work. 

And, we pay for information because it's a service that saves us time. That way, you don't have to read the twelve books I have read. I've gone shopping, gathered the ingredients, and baked it up in a pie. 

Want a taste?

We’ve gone through tough times. The last two years—or has it been three, have knocked us out of our everyday life, separated us, and made us even more fearful. Some have lost their jobs, and others have decided they hate theirs and resigned. 

Over the past three years, we had death hanging over our heads and famine in the wings. So, what did we do? We hoarded toilet paper. Many became disenchanted with the medical system and the education system. Global warming made us fear for the planet and added guilt that our lifestyles may have caused it. We developed gulfs in our families over these issues that became political. We have become afraid to mention some subjects to new friends and lost some old friends because of things we did say. 

After watching the Oregon lottery grow to One Billion Dollars, I saw how many thought that money would save them or, at least, solve one problem—that of not having enough.

Why Talk about money?

It's where we live and how we feel about money and respond to it is fundamental to our having it. We want to know How to Get Rich, and we want it NOW. At least I do.

So, my Newsletter has morphed into a course. I guess I will call it a course for want of a better name. It will be in modules instead of Newsletters, and it will be complete in one sitting. Still 12 bucks, still 12 modules.  

Modules, okay, I'll call them modules.

I figured if I laid out a module on a table and said, plunk a buck in the cup and take a module, people would. One Dollar a module. Uh, worth it. How to Get Rich? I'd pick it up.

Only I can't call it that. The working title is Money Talk. When the course is complete, I will send up a smoke signal, or better, a notice via the Internet. 

I'm telling you the price upfront because I hate infomercials where I listen to some supposed "expert" spend a half hour giving me information—or I have to read 3 feet of content before I find out what they are selling and for how much.

I will serve up a good heaping of How to Get Rich for a nominal fee, for chances are you aren't rich yet. (If you are, slip some greenbacks under my door, or better yet, feed someone who needs a good meal.)

However, Let's Get Rich (or richer) together.

But, ah, [toe in sand] the course complete yet.