One year ago today: November 21, 2015, SPAM and saw handles.
Five years ago today: November 21, 2011, Ripley’s Ferris wheel.
Nine years ago today: November 21, 2007, last photo taken 1982.
Random years ago today: November 21, 2002, not a sports story.
MORNING
Once more, you get leftover photos and you know why? Because I didn’t go to Harbor Freight because all my 20% coupons expired. Hold your horses, I’ll get up there if I have to lift a page of coupons out of the magazines at the library. What? It’s just a dumb coupon, like if I don’t use them, they get thrown out, dude. Here’s a photo of the logs in the northeast part of my lot. These are from the 62-foot chokecherry tree, and if you think they are small and light, why don’t you try to move one. The sections here are around 15” in diameter.
I sawed another 4” of the plank, enough to finally admit this is not the answer. Agt. R says to just treat the logs with preservative and roll them along the north property line as a fence. He’s got a point. It would sure look nice.
So you know I’m not on vacation, I also oiled and adjusted the chain saw, fed Zeke some turkey bones, and recoated the new scissors jack with oil on the joints and grease on the screws. Next, I set up the dust barrier for the new bathroom, then rearranged the furniture on the other side. My goal was to set the door where either a double bed fit one way, or a twin fit the other. Agt. R further notifies me that there is a Habitat recycling store in town. I don’t have to drive to Zephyrhills.
I still may make the trip. For the record, after November next year, I do not plan any major trips. If the happen, fine, but this is the last year that I consider myself young enough to gallivant around. I am now the same age as my wife’s parents when we met.
I’m into the final 100 pages of “The Name of the Rose”. The format is similar to “The Shoes of the Fisherman”, though I read that one over forty years ago. It is hard to tell if the purpose of the book is to tell the story or indoctrinate you into Catholic ritual. Contrary to the concept that monks are a learned bunch of scholars preserving knowledge through the Dark Ages, hell, they were creating the Dark Ages. You do not want to get mixed up with that sinister bunch of assholes. Many of the scrolls and manuscripts were copied by scribes who could not even read what they were writing.
God plays very little role in the daily machinations of a monastery. There was constant rivalry, and back-stabbing for the positions where a monk could operate on the side. Selling hay from the barn, or trading cheese from the kitchen, or tapping a wine keg. There’s been a fifth murder and the only common point seems to be the victims were poisoned before being “killed” in some other way. They have black tongues and black fingertips. My speculation is that somebody is poisoning the manuscript before the monks lick their fingers to turn the pages.
It is also clear that the Italian wing of the Church is slowly gaining the upper hand. This is accomplished by strong-arm methods that the more civilized northern European nations eschew somewhat more often. The Bavarian section, for example, often recognizes that monks can change their view over years, but the Italians fry anyone who had a trace of non-conformity no matter how long before. This they accomplish by deputizing caravans of torturers to travel around the countryside conducting “trials”. They seem to have a 100% conviction rate.
Grass after lightning strike.
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NOON
Oh boy, lot’s of chain saw pictures today. Here is the log I’m cutting at 4” per day. It’s a pity to destroy such nice logs, and they smell wonderful being sliced. The cut shown here is around a foot in depth. The chain itself is still sharp, but performance declines once the metal heats up. That explains the 4” per day.
The phone company underwent a long transition while I was there. Prior to say, 1985, the company was your average bloated corporation that could only run itself, though it fancied that it was equally good at everything. The company grew up in an era when labor was cheap. By 1985 when computers began to take over, no doubt they would have liked to selectively downsize by two thirds. I worked at the company during the period when the headcount maximized and then began to decline by attrition. The company simply quit hiring people in 1986.
This refers to the phone company proper, not the swollen departments of clerks that keep the records. There were always huge offices full of clerical types, often with a 10% per month turnover. The work was pretty mindless. Over time, those departments became full of fat old divorced sour-puss ladies who had learned the minimum standards of performance. Those are the ones constantly demanding “equal pay”. Forget them. I’m referring to the trades part of the phone company where the work actually gets done.
Blocking any downsizing was always the union. While I agree with many union premises, there are some I cannot abide. For example, promotion only by seniority, without regard to ability or competence. The problem was really that they did not want the company playing favorites, but the union had plenty of decades to come up with something that worked better than hiring dates. That was a non-starter, since the higher ups in the union were themselves there by seniority.
By 1985, nepotism in the company was pretty much the rule. In my 15 years there, I only met one other person who was not hired by relations. That’s a tale from another trailer court, so I’ll skip it. Another sticky clause was “no layoff due to technological change”. The company could not invest a few billion in robots and send everybody home. Just let me say this, if any of the other thousands of employees realized this, I was certainly the only one who recognized it and acted accordingly. I was often in night school four evenings per week, preparing for another job. By 1996, I was gone, and by 2006, who was left standing? Mind you, I was standing 3,000 miles away.
The reason I didn’t form many long term friendships at the company is straightforward. The place was a gossip factory and you bet your ass the company paid a lot of attention to every scrap of malicious rumor. If you had a bad day, it provoked questions of whether you were having trouble at home, type of thing. And every iota of it went into the company personnel files. I can’t tell you how many times the company went on witch hunts with this information and how many times they tried to get my home address.
By 1994, when I knew I’d be leaving at the first opportunity, things got down to trading insults at times. The supervisor would demand my home address on company time, making the request pert of the job. I’d ask why and he’d lie, saying they might need me. I’d remind him that when I leave at the end of the day, I don’t even like to be reminded the company exists until the alarm rings next morning. They’d say it was a safety issue, in case they “had to get hold of me”.
“Lionel, that would only be if your cousin Kent has once more been arrested for drunk driving, your brother-in-law Dave is in rehab again, and your uncle Steve has been hitting the sauce since noon last Sunday. When you pay me what I’m worth, I’ll come in on my own.”
This might seem impertinent, but remember, the other guy is not my boss. He works there same as I do and it is not his company. By the time you hit 35 and you are not in upper management, the jig is up. You ain’t goin’ nowhere so talking down to me is fruitless. Except for the best and brightest over at HQ, everybody in the company knew I was a far more qualified manager than any of the 90-day wonders they hired straight out of business school. And whom I used to point out that I had taken the same management courses and my marks were still the highest ten years later. (I used to post my particularly high marks on the bulletin board, inviting anyone else to do the same. There were good reasons for this, so don’t get on my case.)
NIGHT
You love my chain saw progress reports. Admit it. Say, most of my pals to whom I will not lend tools, do you know what this is? It is called routine maintenance. Recognize it? Ha, I didn’t think so. See the correct grade of oil in the lower right? Note the sawdust has been air blasted from the saw ports. And the chain tension has been properly set. That’s why I don’t lend tools.
That was a smart move. The chill tonight was that coastal damp cold and from the Gulf, it never ends. I zipped up and it was like the freeze wasn’t there. Nothing bites through that jacket. I also had the thermal gloves and was wearing quilted long-johns and a motorcycle scarf. I gather from the tap-dancing locals, I was the only one prepared. Several farmers reported frost in their low-lying areas.
The chain bolt, although this is built in China, uses a standard Allen wrench, the ubiquitous 5/32nds. But those are rare around here. They evaporate. I’ve often wondered by somebody won’t sell packages of the most popular sizes. I mean, I know they want to sell you the whole set, but I think they lose business on that. Sell a 5/32” round file in packages of five. Same with 7/8ths sockets, and 5/8ths drill bits.
The replacement handle costs only $4 less than buying an entirely new shovel. That reminds me, here is some homeowner’s advice. The sandy soil of these mine tailings does not stay nice and level. In one season, I have several small depressions growing in the yard. Why? Because there is no topsoil layer to bind the surface. I thought of roto-tilling, but Agt. R says you will hit tree branches a few inches down.
The depressions are mini-sinkholes caused by uneven water runoff. He says the solution is to constantly throw down a light layer of compost or topsoil so lawn grass can take root. He says to throw down lawn seed by had. I’ll look into it. In other news, the two northern cardinals that are now patronizing the feeder are the juveniles from this spring. I recognize them, brother and sister. They arrived at 10:02AM today. The most famous cardinals in Florida, you know. 3,600 people know them.
Last Laugh
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