President Emeritus, Or The Meaning of Life (October 1994)

This post is part of a series of editorials written by Bert Walsh during his tenure as president and past president of the Shasta Historical Society. Readers are advised that his humor is often irreverent and rarely politically correct. 

Click here for the table of contents for the entire collection of his editorials.

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My hamster died when it fell into a bucket of varnish.

It was a sad end but a fine finish.

Being a president emeritus is really lots of fun. Now that the dust has settled, I find that I've got one whole extra day every week available for contemplating the meaning of life.

Now some people meditate in front of TV screens or stare into barroom mirrors or computer screens. My particular thing is getting away to our place in the hills. After taking care of the minimal chores, it's nice to pour a cup of coffee and sit outside on the bench by the door where it's quiet and peaceful, look at the trees and try to discover the meaning of life.

But just when I've managed to get it all resolved, I fall asleep and when I wake up I've forgotten what it was. 

So I'm taking the easy way out. The circulation of this newsletter is over 600 families, and I'm sure that someone somewhere has hit on the true meaning of the universe. We need a program for the January meeting; I'm sure one of our readers could do a bang-up illustrated go-minute talk on the Purpose of Life as We Know It.

All you have to do is show up. We can provide an easel or slide projector and refreshments. If you would like an advance announcement in the newsletter, just let Wayne know. See you there. 

Geological Perturbations (continued) 

Now we all know that State Highway 299 West runs generally in a westerly direction. However, where it passes through old Shasta it tends in a northwesterly direction. This can be confusing, because a local inhabitant will swear to you on a stack of bibles that Whiskeytown is north of Shasta. This local orientation is hard to get used to and communication can become difficult.

This phenomenon is known as the Middle Creek Magnetic Discombobulation. It is said to be caused by something they put on the hamburgers at Jay Birds Cafe.

--BTW

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