January 14, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: January 14, 2016, Trump: “I attack back.”
Five years ago today: January 14, 2012, . . . in half a career . . .
Nine years ago today: January 14, 2008, stranger in town!
Random years ago today: January 14, 2010, I won a singing contest!

MORNING
           Here’s more progress, a photo of the lumber going inside for a work counter. You can’t see it, but I have some flat boards to start on the screen door. They have ready-made doors up at the yard. There’s something I don’t like about putting a vinyl door on this place, so I’m planning to make one myself. Howie showed me there was one before, the hinge points have been painted over. The lady who lived here before his mother “wore the screen door out”.

           Something is off kilter. No way I can still do heavy labor even a bit and wake up A-okay the next day. In fact, I woke up, made breakfast, and was walking outside to feed the cats before I noticed I wasn’t in any pain. The only thing that went wrong this morning is I made the mistake of buying cheap coffee drip filters. They clog up around every fourth pot and hold the water in the grounds until you poke a drain hole. Which floods your carafe with grounds. So you lose anything savings on the filters.
           That irks me, plus this weekend is MLK day, not nationally recognized by any means. It’s the only national holiday not named after a military person or event, they say, but was Columbus a soldier? In fact, coming so close after Xmas and New Year’s, it is more of an inconvenience that a celebration. The library was closed. To me, MLK is an unwelcome gap in my schedule. So the guy did good. So did Columbus. But unless I’m being paid for the time off, don’t be calling it a holiday.

           And while I’m griping, here’s some advice to the old ladies. While there is no sure-fire way to engage me in a conversation or anything else, the way not to do it is start off with the “God bless you” bit, or the “have a safe day”. Hint, motorcyclists who don’t make every day safe have a tendency to not reach my age.
           I’m going to make another supply run up to the lumber yard and call it a day. My logic is straightforward. I know I’ve got aches and pains somewhere that just aren’t showing. Maybe it’s a delayed effect. I need 21 more paving stones and some 1”x4” strips. I might even buy those cheap-ass fence slats. The ones I built the birdfeeder from, and the cardinals certainly don’t mind.

           Gossip. Agt. M landed in the hospital. Another traffic accident. This time I couldn’t make out what he was saying, so I’ll check back in ten days. If you’re ambulatory in that time, chances are you will totally recover. I’d called him about that place we didn’t buy, the one overgrown with grass that turned out to have a swimming pool. Well, it also had an abandoned Quonset hut in the back full of welding gear. That includes one of those welding trailers with the massive generator. Somebody got that as a rent-to-own for $5,000 down.
           My batteries were dead, but in the off-chance I ever go past again when the barn doors are open, I’ll show you what I mean. The place was a robot builder’s goldmine. No loss to me, as I could not have afforded it anyway, but Agt. M was five grand away from paradise. Don’t look at me, I was broke last summer and it was back in 2014 when he saw me starting to save money, so the example was there.

Picture of the day.
I have no idea, but it’s BBC.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
NOON
           I wound up placing those final 21 stones on the shed floor. And discovering that that little rain overnight has already caused some settling of the sand. I always have the option of just leaving it. If you look in the upper left corner, you can spot how the floor already has a low spot. Even if I level it again, I think I’d be wise to get used to this type of problem in this area. Rumor is the bedrock is 65 feet down. (For clarity, you are looking to see how the floor has already settled at spots.)

           It was most of the afternoon getting this much work done, think two-and-a-half hours. I won’t be winning any contests. I moved the supplies in and on the sidecar. I’m thinking in March, I may take the batbike in for some upgrades. Face it, the Rebel is just not as thrilling a ride. When you pull up on that, you’re just another schmeeb on a motorcycle. But the batbike, that’s class. Instant center of attention

           The batbike needs clutch plates, shocks, and a new rear hub. Nearly a thousand dollars. No panic, it has needed those for the past 20,000 miles. It’s just not wise to take it on any major road trips without these things attended to. By late afternoon, I’m inside, drinking tea, and watching some old John Wayne flicks. I find his work inconsistent yet in general, the settings an backgrounds are very authentic. It’s not like the wild west was anything big at the time, so I’m impressed somebody went through all that trouble over details few would notice.
           Example, the stagecoach has some odd hardware on the back rail. I’ve noticed them missing on all other westerns, including Gunsmoke. It’s a towbar for delivering horses, or if a cattleman preferred riding inside the coach, he’d hitch his horse along.

           Here it is, 6:00PM and I was lifting heavy blocks again. That’s onto the cart at the store, out to the bike, onto the bike, home to the wheelbarrow, then eight at a time to the shed. Stack and place them. Yet, I’m not cramped or sore at all. True, I was working at less than half-speed, but that’s been a reality for me since 2003. Hmmmm, and no strain on my system, something that I would notice at the tiniest hint. In fact, by day’s end, I may even go out for a brewski, like a real construction worker.

           Before I have a siesta, here’s a mystery for you. In my younger days, I owned a laundromat, so it is unlikely that I would make certain simple mistakes. Like throwing my wash into a washer or dryer that wasn’t empty. So you figure out this one. Last week when I brought home the laundry, I came into possession of two new and very nice shirts. They are similar enough to some I already had, and my right size, that I did not notice them until I went to sort my laundry for this week. One is a pale dark green short-sleeve dress shirt, the other is an excellent and soft-to-the-touch grey checkered polo shirt. Expensive, $60 shirts.
           My guess is that some point in the past, JZ and I were shopping at the thrift in the south end and he bought the shirts, which somehow got co-mingled with mine. Maybe I grabbed the wrong bag out of the truck. But that isn’t such a good explanation because

                      √ JZ is a very careful shopper and would miss them
                      √ I have done laundry many times since last August
                      √ The shirts are my size which are slightly too small for JZ
                      √ JZ’s brothers donate him all the fancy shirts he wants
                      √ JZ buys snappy colors where I prefer military hues

Country Song Lyric of the Day:
“How’d You Get so Ugly Overnight?”
NIGHT
           Yep, I went out late and came home even later. The hottest night spot in town. Had their been even the slightest hint of a decent woman in there, I would have been in there like snaklies. Instead, I wrote some letters, sketched out the screen door, calculated the dimensions of moving the windows, and got home early enough to read some passages from “Out of Antarctica”. That book is beginning to addict me.

           A gal at the club, one mentioned here before, says there is an “exotic petting zoo” in Dade City. I’m not sure what that means, but I’m only petting any "exotic" animal above the waist, as it were. We have tentative date next weekend, she assures me that although she has never rode a sidecar before, she can handle it. If so or not, that’s a better attitude than the last five women I’ve dated. Yes, that includes you-know-who.

           I thought I’d test the Vivitar “night portrait” setting on my camera. Does it work? Hard to say. This is the best picture I could get of the full bright moon ducking behind some clouds. It took more effort than planned to get this shot, looking directly east from my back yard. I’ve no 2017 Almanac, so I’m guessing it’s full moon, but it may be waning gibbous. Waning gibbous—isn’t that the name of the geek kid you went to school with, the one whose father worked at the bowling alley?


Last Laugh


++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++