One year ago today: August 8, 2015, Peace River estuary.
Five years ago today: August 8, 2011, that slow muck.
Nine years ago today: August 8, 2007, Jimbos No Windows.
Random years ago today: August 8, 2012, early batbike test drive.
MORNING
Up at dawn again, I’ve reverting to a country hick. I used the head start to lay out the bedroom as a more suitable work area. Over the month, I’ve systematically replaced all the light bulbs in the building and outside with properly rated smart bulbs. Yes, I carefully save the old incandescents. And I bolstered the joists under the bathroom floor, examining the hallway as the next segment to rip up. I see one of the wands is already missing from my new vacuum.
Here’s a photo of the progress with the tar paper. It does a wonderful job. Note the ammo box for sharp objects like spare saw blades and such. It is also sturdy enough to stand on. Note there were still patches of old drywall when this picture was taken.
It appears nothing inside the building has been built to code except maybe the plumbing. Agt. R, thank the guy forever, showed up and gave me a life to the Amtrak station. It’s a little further than thought. This is the first trip I’ll be to Winter Haven from the west, so I’ll be watching the scenery on that part of the trip.
On the side, I noted that the squirrel, rabbit, birds, and raccoon are not longer evident around the yard. However, the feral cats are everywhere. I do not know if this is normal for the area. I have not yet hung out the bird feeder. Where is my northern cardinal. I'll put out some sunflower seeds. Cardinals are fussy eaters.
Lee Remick.
NOON
Y’know, the American heyday is gone and you can see it. To set the pace for the rest of this day, moments after Agt. R dropped me off at the Lakeland Amtrak station, the announcement came that the train would be two hours late. How did they know to wait until he had left? I’ll tell you what a mood this left me in, ready? It turns out the train ran over some guy—last night. Not this morning, but last night. He was on the rails in a restricted area. So you want my opinion? Good, because right now, you’ll get it.
Read my lips. If the guy was a trespasser, keep on going and phone in the report. If it was a suicide, back the fucking train up, run over the bastard again, and then keep going. Am I communicating with you Millennials on this one? Aw, you are suffering from feelings of inadequacy? That’s proper, because you really are a sorry and inadequate bunch, the lot of you. When the biggest splash you can make in life is a tattoo and stalling a passenger train for three hours that’s an automatic fail. Poor babies.
You’d think by now, the entire American system would be a coordinated machine. Instead, you get each element maximizing its profit by minimizing its service. It’s not any individual Amtrak employee’s fault, therefore, if you are pissed at being unduly late, why you need to work on your political correctness. There, I said it. Now on to the trip itself.
The Amtrak station, where you spend the first few hours waiting, noting that the accident was not anywhere near the route you want to travel, has no services. Two vending machines, one of Pepsi products, that champion of nutrition, at $1.40 per bottle. And a small salty chip machine, $1.60 per bag. Machine gives change for dollars only. Way to go, Amtrak, with your rock hard benches, might as well have some rock hard food options.
And when the train shows, why is it the loading car is always at the far end of the platform. In Lakeland, that is a good ¼ of a block in the heat. Nobody else embarks or disembarks, so they could have pulling the train ahead, but no. People like to drag their luggage down to the far end of the station for kicks. The get soaked $8.00 for the only item left on the menu, the turkey sandwich. Since I skipped breakfast thinking I’ll eat on the train, I was so hungry by 4:30PM I’d have eaten the conductor’s boot.
Way to go Amtrak. True, you know more about running a train that I do. So much more that you can stick your whole where the sun don’t shine. There’s a reason most people don’t ride the train unless they have to. Oh, and even though your staff saw I was carrying a hardcover book when boarded, extra thanks for sitting me next to that obnoxious Haitian family who monkey-talked at top volume the whole time. Probably to drown out their screaming kids and video games. Instead of reading that boring old university text, thanks to assigned seating, I got to spend the trip becoming culturally enriched.
NIGHT
This photo got missed earlier in the process. It is important. Shown here is a sample of how each existing stud and joist was drilled to ensure it was structurally sound. Yes, there was termite damage, but not extensive. In the end, not one of the studs needed replacing or bolstering. However, on the bathroom floor, not shown here, that is a different story. Now back to the train trip.
Amtrak food. Not only was the train late, it was out of everything except the $8 turkey sandwiches, although they did give complementary coffee under the circumstances. There were few takers. Train food is not cheap, I’ve never used the dining car. Just the cafeteria car. Here’s a sampling of the prices.
Hot dog $5.00, pizza slice $6.75, cheeseburger $7.75, coffee $2.00, soda $2.25, beer $6.14, all entrees were $12. The selection was rigatoni, turkey meatloaf, spinach lasagna, and beef stroganoff. You know, only once did I ever drink on a train. That was on a jaunt through the Rockies in around 1983. I’ll not make that mistake again. Talk about a pressure headache the next morning.
I could not sleep on the train due to the noise. I was one tired puppy when I got in. The silence at the new place is addicting. In fact, when I walked into the newly insulated bedroom this morning (I still sleep in the living room), the silence was nearly eerie. At night you can still hear the cicadas, but in the morning, utter silence. I’ll get used to it fast. It’s my new Fortress of Solitude.
Last Laugh
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