Sunday, November 19, 2017

Sunday Night Memes

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Click images to enlarge.










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DELICIOUS!

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My wife got a big bunch of fresh beets at Chinamart today. They had the tops on and they weren't wilted like you usually see. Now I happen to HATE beets. To me, they taste like dirt, and I quit eating dirt when I was still in diapers. The TOPS are delicious, though, and even the stems cook up tender. The pot was full when the missus started boiling/steaming them, but they cooked down to only two servings for me. She isn't a greens eater, so I'll have some for tomorrow, too. One thing I like about them is that they have no bitter after-taste like so many greens have. I put a little salted butter on them and feel like I'm in hog heaven! If you haven't tried them, you should.I shudder to think that most folks throw them away!
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Media Silent On Democrat Stalker (a link)

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http://dailycaller.com/2017/11/15/networks-ignore-dem-candidate-arrested-for-stalking/?utm_source=site-share
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John Quincy Adama On iSLAM (a link)

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http://thefederalistpapers.org/founders/john-quincy-adams/jqa-describes-islam?utm_source=FBLC&utm_medium=FB&utm_campaign=LC
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The Chinese Give "Wiener Roast" A New Meaning (a link)

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https://www.menshealth.com/guy-wisdom/anti-pervert-flame-throwers-china-sexual-harassment?utm_campaign=buffer&utm_content=bufferd99fc&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com
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RINO's Vocal On Moore, But Silent On Franken (a link)

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http://www.breitbart.com/big-government/2017/11/17/gop-leaders-who-threw-fellow-republican-moore-to-the-wolves-stay-silent-on-dem-franken/
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Rejection (a link)

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Perpetual Proverbs: Rejection
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OOPS!

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Folks, I apologize, but I accidentally deleted several comments that I was trying to post. Apparently, my eye-hand coordination was bad, or my brain was on vacation. I wanted to respond to them, so if you would be kind enough to repost your comment, I promise to be VERY careful this time.
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A Parting Of The Ways

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It would be nice, of course, If everyone could always agree and get along. Still, a one-time friend of mine used to say that the only way two people can always agree is if one of them is mealy-mouthed. Neither of us were, so when he got into politics and started running with the wrong crowd, he just couldn’t abide my opinion, so we parted ways.

Recently, a lady whose blog I’d followed for several years went on a rant because a fellow that SHE followed trapped English sparrows and got rid of them. I’d always known that she had a soft spot for animals, even snakes, but THAT post surprised me. Anyone who has truly had to deal with English sparrow invasions of barns, chicken coops or bird feeders knows how voracious their appetites are and how much poop such small birds can manufacture (which they spread on EVERYTHING). Starlings are even worse.

She ranted and raved (and mentioned that some nasty people even get rid of starlings) and carried on about what a monster the guy was and ended by saying that she’d quit following him. Being someone who has battled both English sparrows and starlings in the past, I knew what the outcome would be if I gave MY view. I considered explaining to her that to not defend our resources against such invasive species (neither are native and affect the native species negatively) would mean that farmers couldn’t protect their crops against bugs, birds and rodents, warehouses couldn’t defend against mice, rats and destructive pigeons and people wouldn’t be able to protect their homes against home invaders of the non-human type. Mind you, it’s perfectly okay if she chooses to let the snakes eat her egg production, which she has, and feed hordes of English sparrows and starlings at her feeders, which she does. However, she has no right to expect the rest of the world to copy her bunny-hugging ways. So, I quietly quit following the woman, for my respect for her had waned as surely as hers for the blogger she now loathed.

Just the other day, I began following the new blog of a fellow I’d always heard of, but never followed. He’s a desert-dwelling, opinionated old geezer with rather salty speech. Still, I agreed with a lot of what he said, so I followed him for a few days. Then he got onto the subject of taxes for a couple posts. It was painfully obvious that he absolutely hated rich folks and thought the government should take all their money. I’ve lived long enough to recognize blatant jealousy and covetousness when I see it, but I didn’t mention that. Instead, I pointed out that his beliefs on taxes were pure socialism. He seemed highly offended. I told him that maybe he just wasn’t used to dealing with someone as blunt as he was. After the second post on the subject and my reply, he made a short post stating that opening a new blog was a mistake. Figuring that I was probably the reason for that opinion, I quit following him so he could rave and rant and hate rich folks and espouse socialism unabated.

I sincerely regretted leaving both blogs behind, but I find that I soon grow tired of people who rave and rant because the rest of the world doesn’t conform to their illogical and often selfish views. Yes, I know that means that I’m an opinionated old cuss myself, but if you can’t handle it, you can always leave! -  LOL © 2017
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Beam Machine Chainsaw Attachment (w/pics)

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I may have posted on this a few years ago. If so, here it is again!

I tried using one of "The Beam Machine" gizmos on a couple oak logs. I found it usable, but tedious. I had trouble with the screws breaking off in the oak, even when drilling pilot holes. It would probably work much better with pine and similar species. If I was traveling into the wilderness and didn't want to take up any more volume in packing than possible, I'd consider it. However, unless you want to pack a 2x4 along, you need the skill to manufacture the first 2x4 with only a chainsaw, a chalk line and an axe. Also, if you're going to use a boughten 2x4, you need to either shim the inside of the gizmo slightly, or cut your own slightly over-width one out of a 2x6, since the thing fits a little too loose. I ended up selling the thing, but it would be an easy way to make 6x6's from softwood. Click separate images to enlarge them.
Copyright 2017





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Early Sunday Memes

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Saturday, November 18, 2017

Roy Moore Donations SURGE After Attacks (a link)

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http://www.breitbart.com/video/2017/11/17/report-roy-moore-fundraising-surges-since-attacks/
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Yeah, MS-13 Members Sure LOOK like "Kids" (a link)

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http://www.breitbart.com/big-government/2017/11/16/one-third-of-214-arrested-ms-13-gangsters-were-unaccompanied-alien-children/
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More Evidence Of RINO Conspiracy Against Trump (a link)

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https://constitution.com/more-evidence-of-deep-state-rino-coup-emerges-in-roy-moore-case/
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Snopes Caught Lying For Clinton (a link)

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http://yournewswire.com/snopes-caught-lying-for-hillary-again-questions-raised/
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Pre-K May Be Hurting Your Kids (a link)

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http://www.intellectualtakeout.org/article/another-study-reveals-pre-k-may-hurt-kids-over-time
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Rev. Austin Miles On Roy Moore (a link)

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http://ipatriot.com/naked-truth-judge-roy-moore-allegations-must-read/
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The danger of an UN-loaded gun (a link)

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Bayou Renaissance Man: The danger of an UN-loaded gun
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More Korruption In Kalifornia (a link)

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http://dailytimewaster.blogspot.com/2017/11/an-example-of-what-happens-when.html
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A Short Po-eem Fer Mah Friends

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Musings From the Sage of Tick Ridge


On the spine of Tick Ridge
In the fresh country air,
Lives a well-fed curmudgeon
With wisdom quite rare.
He’s forgotten more things
Than he ever knew.
Just sit for a spell and
He’ll share them with you.
Lend him an ear,
And open your mind,
And to all of life’s problems
An answer you’ll find.
And iffen you don’t
And think you’ve been pained,
At least for a while,
You’ve been entertained! ;-)

 Copyright 2017 (Actually written years earlier)
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Today’s Visit To Chinamart

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Saturday is our usual day to hit the closest Chinamart, so we stayed with tradition. As I let the missus off at the door by the pharmacy (her preferred entrance for some reason), I noticed that all the handicapped spaces appeared to be taken. I knew that wasn’t a good indicator as to how many handicapped scooters might be available inside. Just as I arrived at the other entrance, a vehicle pulled out of a handicapped space, so I pulled into it. I even remembered to put the placard in the window before I headed to the door. Inside, two scooters remained; one obviously had just been plugged in to charge, but the other seemed to have a full charge.

I immediately got a shrink-wrapped “case” of water and a couple other heavy items before I headed to the back “inhouse” (as opposed to outhouse). If you don’t make it difficult, people will steal your scooter, despite it being parked nearly against the bathroom door. The missus caught a woman laying the last item from her scooter on the back counter one day and the woman STILL had the audacity to claim that it was HER scooter. Mine was once stolen by two young women who were getting it for their very frail mother. I would have gladly let the old lady have it, but it really p_ssed me off that they would steal it from another old person. The old lady was clueless, but I said “Well I’ll BE” loud enough that the two younger women turned and looked at me leaning on my cane and then turned away with a sheepish look on their faces.

The missus took a clothing item to return and asked a guy if he was in line; she said that he acted like she was a complete reprobate for even THINKING otherwise. Then, when her turn came, the woman who waited on her was hateful, for some reason. I keep telling my wife that it’s because she’s little and people think they can bully her. For some reason, folks tend not to mess with the big, hairy, burly, livestock-cane-carrying feller she’s married to. They must have a new policy there. The missus is horrible about losing or throwing away receipts, so she knew they might require that she exchange the item for merchandise. Today, though, the woman told her that she had to exchange it for another clothing item. That had never happened before.

I picked up a couple items that I need to start eating, if I’m going to give up two of my heart meds. Polyphenols is the new catch-word for me (I was already taking adequate magnesium). I can’t afford as much as I’d like, but I’ll get what I can. I’ve got a list of polyphenol-rich foods made up and I’m trying to find the amount in each food, so I can concentrate my spending on the foods that have the most.
The missus came to me yesterday with a couple old, scratched up “non-stick” skillets and asked if I cared if she threw them away. I told her that she was the cook, not me and to do what she wanted to do, so she pitched them. I bit my tongue since I never wanted her to get the worthless things in the first place. Today, she got a 13-1/2 inch, 11 pound cast iron skillet by Lodge. It set us back $40, but it will never go bad like the poisonous non-stick types.

Some young woman came up to us in the line today and offered to give us $20 toward our purchase. I wasn’t bothered by the offer, but I could tell my wife was suspicious. I told the lady that we were okay with things today and to find someone who was in more need than us. She remained friendly and said that she would. I thanked her for her offer and said “God bless you” as she walked away. She then went to an older lady a couple spots back in the line and the old lady gladly accepted. I saw a second woman doing the same thing, so I told my wife that it was either a couple friends or a church group just trying to help folks a bit here at the holidays. I was neither suspicious, nor too proud to accept it; I just knew there were people there worse off than we were. I thought it was very nice what they were doing.

We stopped at McD’s on the way home and got us a coke apiece. The polite, chubby young man who took our money does his level best to look as womanly as he can, without dressing the part, and his voice sounds female, but his shaving stubble is obvious. Maybe he just has hormone problems and I’m completely mistaken but, either way, he acts nice enough that I feel sorry for him. I don’t condone perversion, but we never know what drives some folks to become what they are. Even troubled by our own problems as we are, we remain among the blessed. © 2017
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Friday, November 17, 2017

Chapter 8

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Chapter 8



The Creek – Part Two – Escape To The Country


As the creek passes beneath the bridge of Boar’s Hill Road, it leaves the golf course and the city behind. With a turn to the northeast, it gains a companion to travel with for a few miles, the Old St. Ambrose Pike. That road was once the main route between Newport and St. Ambrose, the county seat of Cordial County, the next county upstream from Stone County as you travel the Ohio. These days, the “pike” (as locals call it) is termed a secondary state highway and mostly serves to take people to and from their homes in the country and their jobs in Newport and elsewhere.
Now that the banks of Waddington aren’t so formidable, fisher-folk can sometimes be found along its shores in decent weather. During especially hot weather, you may even find modern-day Isaac Walton’s wading the stream as if fishing for trout rather than the catfish, bluegill and bass that they’re really after. Most turn their catch loose, but a few eat them, some out of ignorance of the chemicals which may be in their flesh this close the river, others due to need.
As you turn the bend on the pike that draws it closer to Waddington, you’ll immediately notice the air feels 10 degrees cooler. If you travel much on foot, you’ll know what a blessing that is in the summer. Winter, of course, is a different story.
From the bridge on Boar’s Hill Road it’s about a half mile, as the creek meanders, to where Hickory Run enters Waddington from the left and slithers under a low bridge to enter the larger stream. That bridge is the first place on the pike to flood when the Little Cannonball sends its backwaters looking for room to spread out. Just barely before reaching the smaller stream, you’ll notice the creek and the pike drawing quite close together. A riffle crosses Waddington there and you can still see traces of the old ford that used to take farmers to the large hayfield across the creek. Only a few feet past the little bridge over Hickory Run, Newman’s Road follows the smaller stream up the hollow to its source.
Back when hay was still put up in that field, and Newman’s road was still gravel, some dangerous moments would occasionally occur. The road and the creek both have a bend there and, when the leaves are on the trees, drivers approaching the bridge can’t see vehicles approaching from the other directions. Picture a farm-tractor and hay trailer coming from the ford, a kid in a hotrod screaming down the gravel road, and a factory worker heading for the country and home. Add to that a farmer in a two-ton truck racing for town and the nearest parts dealer before closing time and you can see how things could get really interesting. Despite quite a few wrecks there, no one has been killed—yet.
Newman’s Road isn’t the “real” name of that side-road, incidentally, at least not in the minds of the old-timers from those parts. It used to be called “Layman’s Hollow Road” before a New England-born governor decided to bring West Virginia out of the dark ages and into the politically correct twentieth century. To him, words like “hollow”, “run”, “coon”, and a few others, sounded colloquial and uncouth; as a result, such places were renamed. Probably no one in the state minded him changing the name of Nigger Run, but some thought he took things a little far. Hickory Run retains its name on county maps only because there was never a sign for it.
You might say that changing the name of rural roads was one of the more important things that governor accomplished. However, the citizens of the state were so impressed that they elected him senator so he could go to Washington and accomplish more great acts of statesmanship.
Beyond Hickory Run, Waddington forms a series of pools and riffles as it parallels the pike for a distance. The creek then parts company with the road only to loop leisurely to the right for a quarter-mile and rejoin it where the large hayfield ends on the far side and the old Robinson place begins. The creek rejoins the road so tightly at that point that the state had to drive pilings between them a few years ago to keep the road from crumbling into the creek. For a few years, paving bricks from an earlier version of the pike littered the stony creek bank below where a local fellow picked them up for small masonry projects.
Just past the narrow spot a few yards, Anderson Run Road (now Anderson Creek Road) comes from the north to enter the pike in a right-hand bend. The bend ceases where the bridge over Anderson Run begins. Like the spot above the bridge at Hickory Run, high water sometimes blocks the pike there in rainy weather.
A couple Andersons still live along the little stream that bears their name. The Anderson clan was one of the first to settle in the Waddington Valley. They took seriously the Lord’s instructions to go forth and multiply and the whole county is now crawling with Andersons, (and their cousins bearing other names.) As a result of this saturation of the county gene-pool, marriages sometimes occur where the guests aren’t certain on which side of the aisle they should be seated. It’s not that the family deliberately intermarries. In fact, several promising romances have been tearfully abandoned when the couples compared genealogies and found they shared too many relatives to feel comfortable about the situation. Many people find that they share several relatives, yet are not actually related themselves. Living a couple centuries in one county can do that to a family. Interestingly enough, whether nervous about their genetics or their humble farm roots, very few branches of the family publicly admit that they sprouted from the same tree.
Straight across the pike from Anderson Run Road is a ford in the creek which takes you to the huge creek-bottom pasture of the Robinson farm. George Robinson was part of a large family from neighboring Worth County. The father and brothers were all oil men and the sisters all teachers. They had several farms scattered over Stone and Worth Counties and their oil, gas, timber and farm holdings once totaled several thousand acres. At the time, they had the largest herd of Polled Herefords east of the Mississippi.
Just above the ford on Robinson’s place was the old baptizing hole. From the ford, the bed of the creek slopes gradually into deeper water as you walk upstream, so just the right spot can easily be found to match the height of any individual. In days of yore, hardly a warm Sunday afternoon would pass but what some new child of God was ceremoniously dunked under the sometimes milky, sometimes muddy waters of Waddington Creek. Then again, some churches didn’t wait for warm weather and broke the ice from the creek’s surface to perform the ceremony. It’s always been said that you’ll never catch a cold being baptized; it’s a matter of faith no doubt.
It was usually the Methodists and Baptists you’d see gathered there; although, occasionally some Pentecostals, United Brethren or Nazarenes would show up. No one remembers seeing any “high church” denominations there; most folks figured they were turned off by the cow pies and therefore preferred sprinkling.
There have been times the faithful have actually had to share the spot with wading cattle taking a respite from the heat. No one ever minded too much since they realized that they, not the cattle, were the trespassers. Of course there were those unpleasant moments when some cow would take water in one end while letting it out the other. Wise pastors gave the stream a few minutes to flow before they returned to their religious rites. These days, most churches have a little swimming pool behind the preacher or one of those portable bathtubs you can wheel around where you want it. With them, you don’t have to watch where you step, worry about swallowing a minnow or cringe every time a yellow‑jacket buzzes by.
From the baptizing hole it’s only about a hundred yards to where Waddington passes under the interstate. Nearly everyone uses interstates these days, but those who remember small towns, mom and pop country grocery stores and one-pump gas stations often wonder if the progress was worth the price. Misusing eminent domain, the builders of the big highways sometimes ripped entire neighborhoods from the earth, butchered beautiful farms and tore down historic homes that had sheltered generations of founding families. “Progress requires change,” the old folks told their young’ns, “but not all change is progress.”
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Thursday, November 16, 2017

My PERSONAL Thoughts On Roy Moore

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Neither you nor I know whether the man is guilty or innocent, let's be honest about that. Only he, his accusers and God Almighty really know anything at this point. I DO know that one of the democrat strategies is to make such accusations close enough to an election that there's no time to defend yourself. That way, folks without a brain or with self-righteous tendencies will either NOT vote for the candidate or will vote FOR his (democrat) opponent without knowing anything whatsoever. If the candidate loses because of the accusation and is then proven innocent, you can be sure the democrats won't say, "Oops, sorry, here's the office you lost because of our lying."

Some of you will be offended when I say that I hope he stays in the race and WINS, even if he's guilty. Both the democrats and the sneaky weaselly swamp rats, like Mitch McConnell and his ilk, hope he'll drop out. That way, the seat will either go to a democrat, or a so-called republican who will fit right into the swamp. If he loses, which he probably will anyway do to the current accusations, the seat will go to a democrat - still okay with the republican swamp rats. However, if he WINS, is proven guilty and is forced from office, at least the seat will go to a republican, swamp rat or otherwise. Even a swamp rat may be more useful to Trump than a Democrat, though, so let's think long term here.

If Moore is guilty, he deserves anything he gets. If he's innocent, his accusers should be jailed and the keys thrown away. Even if he's guilty and manages to hang onto his seat, he won't escape the wrath of God, nor will his accusers if they're lying. Even Sean Hannity broke his own rule and jumped to accuse Moore without full knowledge of the facts. Sorry folks, but that's acting worse than democrats, because we have brains enough to know better.
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Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Getting Around to it

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I began carrying a walking staff when I was a kid. Back then, I was usually hiking or looking for the cows. I gave a special one that I’d used for many years to a co-worker after his knee surgery several years ago. I still like to have one around, but I’ve been making do with my great grandfather’s stock cane for the past couple years. On a September 25 post, I mentioned cutting a white ash sapling for a walking staff (“stick,” I usually call it) a couple weeks before the post. I’d planned on finishing it that week but weather, and who knows what, had caused me to keep putting off the task.

Today, while sitting on the edge of the front porch, trimming my animal-like toenails, I spied the sapling lying on the firewood pile. I knew my next task. After standing the sapling beside me, I grasped the top just above chin level and proceeded to severe it there with a small saw. Then, I cut a half-inch or so from the butt end to get rid of the weathered color. Standing it in front of me, I grasped it at a level even with the bottom of my chin and cut it off there. That left it 60-1/2 inches long. I like it that length because I can set it down a foot or two in front of me, cross my hands over its top and rest my chin on them. When you’re hiking, that can give your back a bit of a rest, especially if you’re wearing a pack.

I’d love to make walking sticks and sell them, but around here, if somebody wants one, they just go to the nearest thicket and cut one for themselves. Buying one seems foolish in a state that’s 80 percent woodland. So, I figured I was making this one for myself. Then a friend came to mind who’d been having knee problems and ankle problems for a couple years. Something told me to get in touch with him. I messaged him on Facebook and he said he’d wanted to get one while in Gatlinburg recently, but the prices were horrendous. I told him I had a free one for him if he was interested, so we’re going to meet soon to see if it suits him.

So, two months after I started this staff, it’s more or less finished. I whittled the circular “corner” off the top cut, so it would be comfortable for your hands when resting on it. I need to put a black cane tip on it, too. If it was going to be mine, I’d put some boiled linseed oil on it to slow the remaining drying and keep bugs out. Sometimes I use mineral oil for the same thing. However, my friend might not want to have to deal with the oil and go for spray lacquer instead, so I’ll let him handle that part. A “not so good” picture of the almost finished staff is below.

Click image to enlarge.

© 2017
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Friday, November 10, 2017

Yesterday

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Actually, the story in this first paragraph began the day before. The missus went to the bank that day to get her SS money off the card and make a deposit, but the bank’s card machine wouldn’t work. We went back yesterday and it still wasn’t working. One of the girls who’d worked there several years figured out how to do it online, though, so the missus got her money. I was just thinking, though, how fragile the system is to get old folks their retirement money.

We’d much prefer to just get a check, like in the old days, but there are disadvantages to that, too. The most obvious is thieves stealing them from mail boxes. These days, though, a more likely reality is non-delivery by the Postal Service. I didn’t get a credit card bill this month, though I’m sure those greedy folks mailed one. It never made it to my mailbox, though. Neither have a few other things over the years. Luckily, I realized that the bill was missing and paid it at a news service place in town. I told you the other day about mailing the magazine to my cousin three day delivery and it took 12 days. Even worse, when I checked the tracking number on day 11, they said that it had already been delivered. The other day, I got a piece of mail for the guy across the road, but didn’t notice it until I was in the house. I put it in his box when I went back outside. I think most folks anymore just throw their neighbor’s mail in the trash, though, rather than get it back on track. So, maybe card machines are the lesser of the two evils, since I don’t like direct deposit either.

Since I’ve gotten old and arthritic, I’ve sat and waited for ages at Chinamart for someone done shopping to pull out of their handicapped space. I watched a fellow doing the same thing the other day and he’d waited for five minutes while the old couple fiddle-faddled. Another old lady got in her car and he looked hopeful, but she frittered away several minutes, too. (A lot of women get robbed during those minutes, the cops say, because so few lock their doors.) Finally, the first fellow gave up and drove halfway down the row and both cars immediately pulled out. The first guy hobbled by the empty spaces just in time to see two other cars pull in. Incidentally, some of the employees complain about going to the far end of the lot to retrieve handicapped scooters; they don’t realize that’s because there are nowhere near enough handicapped parking spaces, let alone scooters.

I’m not sure if it was a C-130 or not, it looked smaller to me, but a plane of that shape and with four big props kept circling the airport yesterday. They used a C-130 for several years to test the radar there; then they switched to a small jet, I think. It was obvious that the plane yesterday was doing the same thing. I love the sound of the old planes, with their rumbles so low that they seem to make the ground tremble. Maybe it comes from being raised on war movies and hearing the old prop planes go over our farm before the jet era was fully established.

Well, we’re into the Sabbath, so I won’t do any work tomorrow. Sadly, that will make tomorrow match the days in the rest of this week. Between schedule changes by the missus and bad weather, it’s been a wasted week for me. Oh well, There’s always hope of more productive days ahead. Live in hope if you die in despair, my comical mother-in-law always said! © 2017
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Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Just Stuff

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Mom was telling me yesterday evening about having a dream where her end of town had severe storm damage and the electric was off. The roof was even blown off the old farm house where she hasn’t lived for ten years. Last night, I had a dream where my ex of 36 years came back into the house to try to claim some of my stuff. I just laughed, pointed to my wife of 34 years and said, “you’ll have to deal with HER on such a thing as that!” Isn’t it strange, and sometimes amusing, the things that our sleeping minds come up with?

The missus and I drove around town a couple evenings ago just about dusk having a long “do you remember when” conversation. It’s sad, sometimes, to think about all the things that have changed here in our town since we were kids. Old landmarks have been torn down, beautiful architectural wonders destroyed by fire or greed, The once-thriving downtown is deserted, good people are long gone, many services are no longer available, traditions are no longer observed, history is forgotten by the locals, there’s no more pride in ownership or community membership, morals are seemingly almost non-existent, strangers are increasingly rude to one another, the “bird” has replaced the wave, families ignore their members, the number of homeless people has sky-rocketed, and the city is slowly becoming a treeless desert. The world we once knew is gone. Oh well; a better one awaits us……..eventually.

On the October 27, I mailed a magazine to my cousin in Florida that had an article he wanted. I couldn’t get book rate like I used to, due the fact that “magazines have advertising (Didn’t they always?”, so it cost me over $7 to send it. Oddly enough, the price structure worked out to where I could get 3-day delivery for only THREE CENTS extra, so I paid it. I never heard anything from him, so I went online yesterday with the tracking number and they said that it HAD BEEN DELIVERED. SO, late last night I emailed him and asked if he’d gotten it. He answered this morning that he hadn’t, and that he’d been watching for it. This afternoon, he emailed me again and said that it had arrived today. SO, they charged me three cents (big deal) FOR A SERVICE THEY DIDN”T PROVIDE and then LIED and said that it had already been delivered. No wonder they’re losing business!

Kroger’s called yesterday and the robo-call said that one of my prescriptions was ready. Since my wife wanted to stop there today, I picked up that med. It was about what I expected price-wise, so I never questioned it. They price-match Walmart, which saves me several dollars, but I usually have to tell them to do so. When I got home, I realized that it was the med that I usually get for $4 that I’d just paid $13 to get. I still have to get the one that’s usually $14. The last time I’d picked up one of my meds, they said that Walmart didn’t have it on their website that day, so I had to pay Kroger’s price if I wanted to take it home that day. As much as I HATE to give them more business, I guess it’s time to switch my prescriptions to Walmart. It’s getting to be too much bother and too expensive at Kroger’s.

I heard on the 700 Club today that walnuts are good for heart arrhythmia, so I picked some up at Kroger’s. I also read on line that salt is a big no-no if you have arrhythmia, not just high blood pressure. My wife keeps potato chips in stock at all times, supposedly because she thinks I want them, so of course, I tend to get into them. I guess that needs to stop (my eating, not her buying, since SHE may actually enjoy them, too). “Jane of Virginia,” as I call her when mentioning her to my wife, told me that she’d beat a-fib and mentioned a book that I should get. It involves changing your eating habits. I’ve changed them a good bit over the years already, so I guess I can change them some more. I think I’ll buy the book as soon as I can afford to do so, which should be soon. It ain’t easy getting old, especially when you’ve let yourself go to pot like I have. I hope ya’ll do better! © 2017
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Monday, November 6, 2017

No More Eliquis For Me!

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After a week of no blood thinner, aspirin or supplements, I took ONE blood thinner a couple days ago. I almost immediately saw a pink hue to my urine and didn't take any more. It took 36 hours to clear up. Looking up all my supplements, I learned that nearly ALL of them have slight blood-thinning properties. Eliquis is one of those meds that has some excellent benefits and a list of warnings as long as your arm. I won't be taking any more. I took my supplements today and will see what happens, though I haven't included the Vitamin E yet. Once I feel safe with those, I may begin taking an aspirin a day, too. I'll do a little more research and decide.
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Sunday, November 5, 2017

Sunday, Nothing More

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It was after midnight, and officially Sunday, when I put the pooch out for the final time last night. We sat on the porch a while in the dark warmness and looked at the moonlit lawn and woods. I then got my extra hour of sleep, in theory, except that I stayed up for an-hour-and-a-half when I put the dog out about 4AM. We sat in the darkness of the porch for a few minutes and enjoyed the sound of the slight breeze in the woodlands and the sound of rustling leaves as they hit the ground. Then, I brought her inside and gave her part of a cookie and two slices of cheese, so she wouldn’t wake the missus whining at her for a snack. I was hoping we’d get to Chinamart an hour early today, but the missus was tired and slept late and we ended up getting there at the usual time. Luckily, there were plenty of handicapped scooters to choose from and we both got one.

Besides picking up Mom’s groceries, as I now do on Sundays, I also got a couple page-sized photos made up to surprise my wife with on her coming birthday. Plus, I got some tent pegs and bungee cords to work out a system for holding down the tarp over my mill frame. In addition, I got a lidded plastic box big enough to put my two small truck tool boxes in, so I can put them under the tonneau and get them off the floor of the back seat. Now there’s more room on that section of floor for the plastic box that contains one of my hooded sweat-shirts. I’ve tried keeping it there in a plastic bag through the winter, but it ends up working out and getting covered with dog hair.

When we got home, I let the dog drain and dump and then we sat on the porch again. The green leaves in the greenbrier thicket at the edge of the yard are gone now. The plants will, hopefully, be gone by spring, as I want to cut the small leaning oaks behind them. The trees are big enough to make a few boards and 4X4’s, so I’ll put them to good use, once my mill is up and running. I hate to cut the greenbriers, since the chickadees, titmice and other small birds hang out there some, safe from anything that might disturb them. I can already see across the small hollow on that side of the house, though there are still quite a few yellow and reddish leaves hanging on. The view will be even more open after leaf-drop when the briers are gone.

When we came in, the missus wanted to go back in town and buy a burger for the dog, but I put her off a little while, since I had a small project that I wanted to get done. I’m finally getting serious about building a platform for my mattress, though I’d hesitate to call it a bed. I’ll be making it out of lumber on hand, so I won’t have to spend any money, unless I need to buy a few more screws. It will have six 4X4 legs, with rollers on the two next to the wall, a 2X4 frame and will be decked with 1/2 inch plywood. Sometime, when I feel like spending the money, I’ll wrap 2X6’s around the whole thing, so the mattress won’t slide off as easily. Maybe I’ll paint it hunter green someday, but for now, it will be a hodge-podge of various shades of weathered lumberyard pine. After getting some pieces measured and marked, I agreed to go back to town.

We got some free onion rings with the pooch’s roast beef sandwich, which we enjoyed. I hand-fed the mighty Dachshund the beef, which SHE enjoyed. For some reason, her food always tastes better if she can slobber on my fingers as she eats. We had yet another porch sit before coming inside, while the missus napped in front of the TV. As I type this, day is done, gone the sun. I hope yours was a good one. © 2017
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Thursday, November 2, 2017

Jus’ Thinkin’ ‘Bout Commercials

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Good and decent people will want to stop readin' at this point.

Commercials can be downright entertainin’ sometimes, but not always fer the reasons that the advertisers plan. For one thing, think about one a’ them diet plans that Marie Osmond advertises – “Lean 13” I think it’s called. They promise that you can lose UP TO 13 pounds in a week. Now what that REALLY says is that they ain’t promisin’ you NOTHIN’, ‘cept that you will NOT lose 14 pounds or more. Strange diet plan. Even stranger that folks would pay money for it. Heck, I can NOT lose 13 pounds a week for absolutely NOTHIN”! Been doin’ it fer YEARS, in fact!

And then there’s that feller that’s all plugged up ‘cause he’s a’ poppin’ opioids like M&M’s. (Spell Check never heard of opioids, BTW.) Here we are havin’ this big deebate ‘bout opioid abuse, misuse and over-prescriptions and this poor feller is all PLUGGED UP from ‘em. SO, does BIG PHARMA tell him to back off a little or swig some prune juice? NOOOOOO! They come up with a second dope that’ll help you sh_t and g_t while still poppin’ opioids by the handful!

Now the PC police ain’t gonna like me goin’ there, but let’s think about race fer a minute. The last time I read anything ‘bout it, blacks make up less than 15% of the population of the U.S.. However, if I was to base my thinkin’ on what I see on TV commercials some nights, I’d guess it was gettin’ nigh on to 50/50. And somethin’ else, accordin’ to the commercials, the blacks are nearly all neat, clean, super-intelligent and financially successful. Whites, on the other hand, are a buncha knuckleheads, and quite often poor and slovenly besides.

Then there’s that age/sex thing. Apparently, anyone less than 18 is a cotton-pickin’ genius, even if they’re snide, rude, selfish and pathological. Adult women are substantially less intelligent than young’uns, but men don’t even register on the IQ scale. Again, this seems REALLY noticeable in white families.

Now I reckon there ain’t nothin’ we can do ‘bout all that, so I’m goin’ to jus’ stay away from kids and minorities that that make me look bad by comparison. I’m also NOT gonna start poppin’ opioids and if I get plugged up anyway, I’ll jus’ eat a can a’ corn – that usually does it for me (‘sides, I HATE prune juice). And, a’ course, I’ll keep right on a’ NOT losin’ 13 pounds a week for absolutely NOTHIN’, no money down and no monthly charges on my credit card! As fer YOU – yer gonna hafta work out yer OWN survival strategy. © 2017
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Wednesday, November 1, 2017

At Least It Isn’t Snow

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The past week has been cold and windy for this time of year. Cold bothers me more than it used to, but I never could handle wind, at least with uncovered ears. Much of the week has been rainy besides. Cold rains aren’t fit weather for man or beast; I always feel bad for the wild critters and for any farm animals that are denied shelter by uncaring owners. We always had a barn that our cattle could get into when they wanted. Some folks aren’t so kind, especially the city-slickers who move to the country and feel the need to have animals that they don’t know how to care for in the first place. And then there are the homeless. Despite the frailties of age, the missus and I are blessed to have a warm home, clothes on our back and food in our bellies.

Needless to say, I haven’t accomplished anything outdoors during such weather. What little usable time was available got squandered running errands and taking my wife on drives “while it was pretty.” Even the porch sitting with the pooch has been very limited, as the prevailing wind sweeps across the spot where the swing hangs, and even the pooch gets chilled eventually. A couple times, when I felt up to it, I extended our stay a few minutes by having her lie on the welcome mat and laying a doubled bath towel over her. She seemed quite comfortable at such times and it was I who finally froze out. I finally looked up my sweat jackets (hoodies they’re called now) when I thought of it yesterday.

This morning, I took the Mighty Dachshund out to drain and dump, but with no towel or jacket. Getting back to the porch, we parked ourselves, I on the swing and she on the welcome mat (at my insistence). I’ve read that a smart dog has approximately the understanding of an average four-year-old child if you encourage them (the dog). SO, as I often do, I told her that if she got cold to let me know and we’d go in. Only about two minutes later, she whimpered, then stood and faced the door. That, in and of itself, proves nothing. Seven years of living with her does. We have to keep changing our terms for certain things, because she picks certain words and phrases out of our conversation and knows what we’re talking about. That’s not a good thing when you’re discussing when you’re going somewhere, as her concept of time demands that things be done NOW! – lol

After our “porch pause,” she returned to her spot below the still-sleeping missus and I to my computer. They’re predicting that the weather will warm to normal temperatures of the season, but that it will be rainy for a week ahead. I’ve got things inside that I can do, if I can make myself do them. With woods on three sides of the house, I’m always glad when there’s enough rain to keep down forest fires, but a week of cold rain, followed by a week of warm rain seems a bit much. Of well, as the title says, at least it isn’t snow. I hope the weather in your neck of the woods is more enjoyable. © 2017
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Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Watch Out For Those Blood Thinners

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Ever since my “almost heart attack” a couple years ago, I’ve been on blood thinners. I’d already been taking an aspirin nearly every day to make heart attack less likely, plus a 400 IU Vitamin E soft-gel to lower my cholesterol. A lot of folks don’t realize that Vitamin E also thins your blood slightly.

When I went on the blood thinners, I was told to stop the aspirin and Vitamin E. However, once it was seen how I reacted to the blood thinner, I could try the Vitamin E again, as long as no blood showed in my urine. I resumed the Vitamin E after a couple weeks of no problems with the blood thinner and things went just fine.

A couple times since then, I’ve taken an aspirin with one or two acetaminophen's, since the latter doesn’t reduce swelling and back or shoulder pain sometimes keeps me awake at night. I soon learned that my limit was two nights in a row. Any more than twice and I noticed a pink tint to my urine.

Recently, I’ve been having a LOT of shoulder pain, so I took aspirin every other day for about a week. Despite then taking two days off in a row, the problem showed itself VERY obviously a couple days ago. SO, I stopped ALL blood thinners, including the Vitamin E. 48 hours later, the coloring is ALMOST gone. I believe I’ll wait another day or two before I restart the blood thinner, then wait another couple days, or more, before I start my Vitamin E. I will probably never take aspirin again, as long as I’m on blood thinner. (If all else fails, follow instructions.)

There IS another danger to taking blood thinners. If you happen to get in ANY sort of accident that causes serious blood loss, you could bleed out before you reach a hospital. SO, be careful not to over-thin your blood as I did. AND, be careful to the extreme in all EVERYTHING you do; life is precious. © 2017
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Friday, October 27, 2017

Flake Hominy And Otherwise Showing Our Age

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Somehow, my mother and I got to talking about flake hominy yesterday evening. I’ve never seen it, though I’ve heard the term, and Mom said that no-one has made them commercially for years. All you can find anymore, besides regular hominy, is hominy grits, which I think is only a longer name for just plain grits. She said the only place that she’s seen anything called flake hominy in the last few years was in Amish country and they just cooked to mush like grits. She said they just tasted like grits, too, not what she remembers flake hominy tasting like. I asked her what it looked like and she said like the corn kernels had been sliced or rolled like oats. That alone shouldn’t change the flavor, so I was wondering if they might have been roasted slightly. Does anyone out there have the scoop on this?

Riding through town today, the missus thought a guy was flying the bird at someone, but then she realized that he was using the hand signal for a right-hand turn. “His signal must be burned out,” she commented. We discussed the matter and realized that it had been several years since we’d seen anyone do that. I wonder if the state still teaches that in their driving handbook?

A LOT of folks still hand signaled when I was a kid. Heck, there were still a few cars on the road that didn’t even HAVE turn signals when I was a youngster. They were old, but they were still rolling. The same could usually be said for their drivers, too! Most young people today probably wouldn’t understand a hand signal, even if they were taught. Use it or lose it, ya know (except for us OLD folks who remember 50 years ago better than five minutes ago).

I’ve noticed in my writing that I still use the word “nigh.” I haven’t heard it elsewhere for a long time, but I still use it. When I was a kid, I heard the word often, usually in phrases like “pretty nigh,” “nigh on” or “nigh onto.” Young folks have probably never even heard the word.

After running errands today, I managed to work on my mill frame for about 30 minutes and got two more little pieces of metal bolted on. It ain’t much, but it’s progress. Such an attitude is another sign of old age, I guess, but sometimes it’s best to dwell on the positive, like calling it “progress.” LOL © 2017
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Thursday, October 26, 2017

Out And About

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The missus wanted to escape Alcatraz after the 700 Club went off today. The pooch was a ready accomplice and I needed to go to the hardware store, so we split the joint. I stopped at the hardware and got a small handful of 1-1/2” lag-bolts for my sawmill frame and asked if they had black bolts anymore. They don’t stock them, but the guy who waited on me suggested a place that he was pretty sure WOULD have them. I’ve got a project in mind using some old honest-to-goodness antique wrought iron, and galvanized bolts would look really tacky on it.

 I drove a couple miles or less and mailed a letter at the downtown post office. The missus then wanted to splurge and get us a Coke and the pooch a cheeseburger, so we headed clear to the other end of town for her favorite McD’s. Afterwards, I asked her where she wanted to go and I’ll be derned if she didn’t want to go right back the way we’d come, to the other end of town! I did as she wanted without even grumbling about back-tracking or wasting gas. On the way back, we saw the site of the big fire. This is day six and the smoke is only a tiny fraction of what it was, and the smoke is now white instead of black, but it still stinks.

As we passed back through town, I saw a couple of rail-thin, bearded old gents that I think I’ve seen pan-handling seated against a downtown building. While I was stopped for the light, I noticed a short, frail, unsteady little grey-headed woman leaning against a guy-wire across the street with her panhandling sign in one hand and her cane in the other. The unsteadiness wasn’t phony; I’m old enough to know the difference. One of the old men pointed her out to the other, then walked over to her, spoke to her a few seconds, gave her some money and went back to his companion. The nearby drivers sat in their fancy cars but offered her nothing.

I think the guys sleep at the Salvation Army, but I also think they charge a dollar or two for a bed and a shower, mostly to keep out the strung-out druggies that might be a danger to others. I’m thinking the guy probably gave her enough to spend tonight there. She didn’t leave her post, though. The light changed and I had to move on. I’ve always heard that the homeless are more generous with one another than most folks are with them.

With cold weather coming, I’m reminded of the Russian foreign exchange student that my wife once knew who always grew sad on miserably cold nights. He said that people would be dying on the streets of his hometown in such weather. Few of us know how blessed we are. © 2017
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Wednesday, October 25, 2017

I Dread The Thought

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Back when I worked at logging, sawmilling and Christmas tree growing, I worked outdoors year ‘round. Now that I’m old, retired and worthless, I don’t like cold weather any more than I like hot weather. It’ll be here before we know it, though. The weatherman is predicting frost in the next day or two, maybe tonight in some locations. We may be safe here on the ridge for a few more days, but time is short.

I mentioned the fly invasion that we had recently, as they apparently sought winter quarters. For the last couple days, a huge flock of boat-tail grackles has been hanging around the neighborhood, preparing to head south. When they come near, their less than melodic calls get deafening in such large numbers. The Mighty Dachshund tried telling them to go away, but they ignored her. Earlier today, a large flock of crows was somewhere southwest of our house in the woods. Even by ear, it was easy to tell that it was no little family flock of summer. I’m sure they’ll be causing a racket a few miles south of here tomorrow. Late this afternoon, the missus and I ran to town on an errand and saw somewhere near two dozen buzzards (turkey vultures) perched in a couple trees in the valley. Hinckley, Ohio must be missing them.

A cold whiteness will eventually cover the greens and browns that I much prefer. Time keeps flying by at warp speed and I’m moving in slow motion. It’s not a good combination. © 2017
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Tuesday, October 24, 2017

The Big Fire Is Dying, Suddenlink Is Stupid, And We’re Having A Fly Invasion

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It’s day four of the big fire at the old O. Ames plant. The property is currently owned by a company named International Export and Import (http://www.ieiplastics.com/) from what I can gather, who has been using it as a warehouse. We had some odor at our house for a short time during yesterday’s rainy day, but otherwise the wind has been kind to us. The plant is probably less than five miles away as the crow flies, but about 10 as the cow (and the roads) meander. Local fire departments from ours and surrounding cities and volunteer companies have been on it 24/7 and the smoke is probably only 5% of what it was.

My mother got up three hours early today because Suddenlink was supposed to come this morning between 8 & 10 AM. At 8, a woman called to make sure that she was going to be there. At 8:30, a DIFFERENT woman called for the same purpose. By NOON, no-on had come, so Mom called THEM. No-body knew anything, no record could be found of her account, no-one knew who was supposed to be coming, etc. Of course, everything was blamed on computer malfunctions.

FINALLY, at 4 PM, a guy called and told her that the reason no-one came was because their techs don’t go out during states of emergency and, since the governor had declared such, due to the O. Ames plant fire, no-one went out. Furthermore, they wouldn’t BE going out until said emergency was lifted. Now I ask you, why did no-one know that long before then, so Mom wouldn’t have wasted her whole day waiting on them? No wonder the guru calls them “Suddenstink.” This one botched service call explains it all.

Lastly, our house has been invaded by big fat black flies. Not your normal cow-pie flies, but flies on steroids and a high-fat diet. They’re still smaller than horse-flies, though. Every couple hours, we start up the vacuum and thin them down. I suppose they know winter’s coming and are looking for warmer quarters. Like the boll-weevil, they’re just lookin’ for a home. Adios for now. © 2017
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Saturday, October 21, 2017

Big Fire(w/pics) - Day Trip

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Last night, just after the late news, I saw a post on Facebook that the old factory building where I worked was engulfed in flames. I’m not surprised. Parts of the building were well over a century old. I’m sure some of the wiring was nearly as old as I am. Some of the place was insulated with asbestos. The inside walls were covered with many coats of lead/oil based paint. The roof had so many layers of metal, wood and asphalt roofing that they gave up trying to nail the patches on and fastened them with only roofing cement. The last time that I drove by when the giant doors were open, the place was filled with rolls of plastic being stored there. I’m not sure what all was in there when the place mysteriously caught fire. I will assume that the building and its contents were WELL insured.

The missus and I had planned to go to Ohio’s Amish country today, and we did. Heading toward town to get a drive-thru breakfast and get on the interstate, the first thing we saw was the huge smoke plume billowing from the big fire across town. Covering over one city block, the building would contain a lot of stuff to burn. Heading north on the interstate, we mostly kept the plume in sight and noticed that it crossed the Ohio River about 15 miles to the north. It seemed to fan out, with the outer edges the heaviest and forming a “Y.” Both trails of smoke were huge in their own right and looked like the worst storm clouds that you could ever imagine. The middle of the Y was still heavy with smoke, but not like the edges. Our northward travel ever-so-slowly cut across the center to somewhat parallel the left (western) fork of the plume. It was at the 70 mile marker that we finally passed the head of the thick plume of smoke, though thinner smoke obviously went miles further. That meant that the main smoke plume had gone about 85 miles in nine hours. It was still so thick that it wouldn’t surprise me if the smoke eventually became noticeable at Lake Erie. I guess time will tell. The only good thing about it so far is that the smoke is rising quickly at the source, not hugging the ground.

At Amish country, we discovered that not only is the place continuing to change for the worse (in OUR opinion), but that we are no longer able to see the place as we once did. The missus has only been able to visit about half the shops in Berlin, Ohio, for the past few years. Today, she was down to one-fourth. We haven’t decided whether to quit going or figure out some way to continue. One option is for me to push her to each shop in a wheel chair, and then me sit in it while she hobbles around inside. The other option is to get her a scooter and me hobble around the antique shops while she “shops” (she rarely buys anything anymore). I guess time will tell.

A check of the local TV website gave the information that the big fire is being considered a chemical fire. The disaster notice and two photos from Facebook are posted below.

disaster notice

Drew Edgar photo

Andrea Duke photo
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