One year ago today: December 7, 2015, Monmouth? Monmouth?
Five years ago today: December 7, 2011, Japs on Main Street!
Nine years ago today: December 7, 2007, sniffing the nerve gas?
Random years ago today: December 7, 2008, 3,000 Xmas lights.
MORNING
Happy birthday, Eatmore. I can barely remember 1973. There was no journal. For that matter, back then there was no pen, no paper, no privacy, no place to write or keep anything this long. Today is Judy’s brithday. I won’t play the humble ex and wonder if she ever thinks of me. Of course she does, it’s not like I don’t know I was by far the least boring man she ever dated.
In memory of Eatmore, I sat on the back steps this morning and gave a lecture to Zeke. I recognized the level of communication. He sat there listening and meowing now and then, knowing I’d feed him no matter what. I went on about how he had better quit turding near my parking spot or I’d spray the grass with vinegar. And how I wanted him to quit with the lurking around the birdfeeder. Those birds are pets, Mr. Zeke, and you are pretty much a non-pet. And what’s with the neighbors? Haven’t they ever seen anybody talk to a cat before?
I was out shopping for the 50 ton jack, affectionately known already as the “Dreadnought”. Alas, from Harbor Freight it is a catalog order item, which I won’t do. That means no 20% coupon discount either. I shopped around and found the same item at Tractor Supply, a store you will no doubt be hearing more about as I settle into this area. It’s $50.00 dollars more, actually $43.40. And it is a heavy beast, I can barely pick it up, making it so heavy to use, I’m wondering if I should try the 30 ton.
Wind turbines in a row.
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NOON
How many mighty hunters do we have out there? Good, practice on this. I filled in the depression that appeared in my front yard. I used ordinary dirt from another part of the yard. It was raked smooth but my next morning the spot was completely covered with animal tracks. There, see me pointing at the biggest paw print? The soil was not dug up or disturbed that way. But it was sure walked across a lot. Most of it was probably feral cats.
When are the surplus celebrities moving to Canada? Lead the way, Whoopi. Yes, I pick on Canada once in a while. Because I used to work for a Canadian-owned company. If you are a native English speaker, you lose out to a native French speaker even if they only know ten words in English. I had that beef with the company and many others. Now, did you know Canada has “language police”. Everything has to be in both French and English and if it is printed, the French has to appear first. One lady was denied disability benefits because her guide dog only knew English commands.
NIGHT
I have the house jack from Agt. R in the back yard, but it stands nearly two feet tall. It’s one of those major screw jacks used when you can physically get underneath a beam or large object. It’s soaking in cleaner fluid, but it’s just too big for here. I’ll clean it up and paint it. I had to cancel out on music rehearsal, my elbow is not behaving. That’s the longest I ever played guitar (two hours+/-) that I’m enough of a novice to have been holding it wrong. The pain is dull, but kept me from a good night’s sleep. I know, quit whining, but the world needs constant reminders of the trials we music types go through. The answer is to just quit, but that’s not going to happen.
[Author’s note: I mean read them, put them in a comment. This blog does not publish comments, but I have no aversion to printing pictures from any source.]
There are around 2,800 pounds of logs in the back yard. It would cost a lot to have them hauled away, so why not turn them into a fake woodpile? You can’t see it, but there is a barbed wire fence behind the trees in this photo. It is only a matter of time until somebody tries to shortcut through there in the dark.
These logs have that nice reddish-brown color, almost like cedar. This is chokecherry wood. I’m thinking why measure out to see if I have enough logs to stack up a mock woodpile that doubles as a fence? I would have to put something on the ground to prevent rot, but that isn’t a big challenge. This is only a concept, guys. Those are logs, not split firewood. And I’m not about to do an Abe Lincoln.
Tired as in sleepy tired, I was nodding off all day. I got to the library and could not really concentrate. Trivia, did you know the average human takes in 1.6 pounds of salt every year? I take that to mean most of it is hidden salt. I choose low-salt and use it sparingly. There seems little consensus on how much is needed and I know all heart doctors tell people to ease up even though only some get high blood pressure over it. You like food trivia?
Okay, margarine. I’ve told how we used to get it by the vat, like lard, and it came with a little cake of yellow food dye you had to mix in to make it resemble butter. The cake itself was a deep orange color. The trivia is that dairy farmers, who also tried to spread rumors that margarine was poisonous, lobbied to have it compulsorarily dyed pink at the factory so nobody would eat it. How about that, “compulsorarily” isn’t a word.
Anyway, your friends, the dairy farmers, the ones who inject their cows with steroids and hormones, even tried to have margarine declared a harmful drug and force stores that sold it to get a license. Wait, there’s more. They paid the advertising industry handsomely to spread the false rumor that milk supplied the calcium needed for children’s bones to grow. I believe it was only fairly recently they were compelled to stop making that ridiculous claim.
You like food trivia, do you? Okay, you know Swiss cheese has holes, but did you know the bigger the brick of cheese, the bigger the holes get. Until the point where the cheese gets hard to slice. That’s mainly why Swiss cheese comes in small packages. And did you know that Swiss or any cheese without holes is called “blind”? All blind cheeses have a mild flavor when compared to the same cheese with holes. Myself, I like all cheeses but don’t care for that one that tastes like caramel.
ADDENDUM
I was thinking of 1973 and for a reason. Before I tell you about that, take a look at this picture. This is a comfort photo for all those city folks who’ve “been away too long”. Taken from my kitchen door, it’s window panes fogged up on the inside from early morning cooking. It was a cool and crisp December morning, much nicer than south Florida, thank you. This window faces south, so you can see it is still twilight outside. Let me get the mostly trusty Almanac, predicting heavy rain, perhaps thunderstorms.
Fast forward from 1973. Eatmore, should you ever read this. Yep, I’m thinking about you right back. If it had worked out forty years ago, today would be the culmination of a totally successful life. The breakup wasn’t hard to predict, your mother pushing for a too-early marriage and your father ragging on me for not being born rich. And for the record, yes, I did try to telephone you on your 40th as promised.
Eatmore was my first true love, but I didn’t know it at first. I’d dated other gals in my teens when you are horny and only think you are in love. Evolution ensures far too many people are in too deep before they figure that out. Myself, I always did recognize marriage as a legal contract with fine print that vastly favors the wife. I tended to date rich girls who had little use for my meager possessions. Thanks to my family, every girl was richer than I was, but that’s a different tale from the trailer court.
In the end, which was 2011, it was a rich girl that did me in. I’ll never get married again unless I have nothing to lose. That is a distinct possibility if they start mucking around with the social security laws again. Then again, when inflation hits, they already have. I’d like a gal to live with, but you’ve seen how impossible it is to find that anymore. I’ve always blamed bad role models in the movies and TV for that situation. Before they started glamorizing the serial divorcee, most single women’s attitudes were shaped by their mothers. And that was important.
Starting in the 60s, that’s when perceptions changed. The single woman became the single mother, then became the divorced mother, a role falsely portrayed as though it was a third viable alternative to becoming a wife or a career woman. What it really did was create vast numbers of women more concerned with money than making a marriage work. After all, why work at it if the courts will let you both split and keep the money? RofR and I used to joke about that kind of woman because back then, you could choose to avoid them and just date nice girls.
It was Hollywood that made the difference. Sure we had our golddiggers and marry-for-money sleezes back then, but it was not glorified as career path. They were sleezes and that’s an important distinction. Most women did not drop out of school intending to become single welfare mothers. In fact, they were rightly terrified that might happen. Everyone knew there were not nearly enough rich men to go around looking to be divorced for support payments while she ran off with the chauffeur,
Do I blame the movies? Yes. Hollywood totally “forgot” to mention that the few women getting away with it were millionaire movie stars. To me, the worst example of the era was Madonna, who has recently been displaced by Miley Cyrus. Come to think of it, Cyrus hasn’t even been on youTube lately. What, is she already old material or die of AIDS in rehab or something? Who cares, these women set bad examples.
And what does “acronycal” mean, anyhow?
Last Laugh
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