One year ago today: June 7, 2017, distant haze green.
Five years ago today: June 7, 2013, I thought she was Australian.
Nine years ago today: June 7, 2009, pondering biofuel.
Random years ago today: June 7, 2005, she left with how many?
Happy birthday, Eatmore. Of course, if I knew how to contact you, I would, as promised. It has finally been that magic number of years. It was you who asked me to call you both on the day you turned 40 (I tried) and this date. That was one of the strange romances of the 70s. We were both teenagers but that turned out to be the only common grounds. She was rich, I was poor, she’d been everywhere, I’d been nowhere, she was dynamite sexy, I was a skinny hippie, she was uptown, I was a farm kid.
The differences ran deep, she took a taxi everywhere, it would be another three years before I even got a car. She had a 5-hour a day job that paid, in today’s money, $8,000 per month, I’d never earned that much total in my entire life. Plus, she worked two months, then got a paid month off. Have you ever dated a gal that four times a year took off to Tahiti or France for a month? Yep, a taxis anywhere in town and airplanes everywhere else. In those days it was a constant struggle for me to keep up with the rent on my $90 per month attic.
She only went out with me because her friend was after my friend. I knew that and it was never meant to be for us. I didn’t like the way she had no concern or made no allowances for how I had to be to stay ahead of the wolf. But we were young and somehow managed to fall in love. Only then did all the social and financial differences become factors. Particularly in the eyes of her father. It took years for us to fall out of love and she got married within six months after that. Sure, I’d like to see her again, but what are the chances? Would I even recognize her? You know, there is something I could do. Yet how do I know what her reaction would be? What if she’s forgotten? If she’s still married, what sort of husband is he? On the other hand, what if she is expecting me to call. There’s nothing wrong with her memory, believe me.
I’ve been instructed to prepare a document on my future. It will center on music, since I have no alternatives planned. Sure, that is risky, but I’ve never bothered to plan any other activities because I know they’d bore me in record time. Music will always be my weekends, my way to meet women, my entire social sequence. Lord knows how few other interests I share with my age group and how unsuccessful I’ve been at finding or creating any. And money, I can’t help but make money with it, and that certainly beats anything else one can do for post-retirement pin money. (I mean in this instance once I turn 65.) Anything sounds better than going back for some piddling wage and stocking shelves or something.
That’s not really a valid scenario, since I would start a business long before it came to that. It’s there to make my point that as far as ways to make money, music is a few billion light-years ahead of anything else. Remember Cowboy Mike who retired too early (against my advice)? He didn’t understand that he may have a dozen skill sets, but none of them are in demand once you are over 55. Even offices that can use you want a young and upbeat staff, not some old coot hanging around eyeballing the office skirt. Nor am I light-hearted about this aspect of music. In fact, I am dead serious about it. Woe to anyone who, by carelessness or negligence, diminishes my prospects.
Summer’s here and May was a record heat wave, since something like 1934. I drove over to Bartow for an extra coffee at the Mongolia. I kept the chit chat to a minimum since everybody except me was working. That was one relaxing good plan, I feel chipper despite the heat index. I worked all three crosswords in a matter of minutes. What? You want my favorite clues? Okay (3 letters no clues), “Napoleon’s here.” How about (5 letters ends with ‘s’), “Sports figures.” One more (3 letters no clues), “Full deck in old Rome.”
Urban sprawl.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
Now, while all this is going on, I have a plan to level the kitchen floor, the worst part of the structure. Now that I have experience, rather than try to shore up the old wood, which is both deteriorated and termite-eaten, I plan to put temporary concrete piers a foot back from the existing structure, where the wood is still sound. This can be made level before I raise the building. Then, I jack the foundation up to where I can slide in a new sill plate. This will not only move the floor up, but take the pressure off the old wood where it is visibly warped. I will then replace the rotten sill plate and lower the building back to level. Plus, this will give me an opportunity to get a close look at what needs repair under there.
In response to two questions about the paper sanding block depicted y’day morning, this is what the tool looks like. That’s it, two metal pieces that fit over each other. That strip of grey sandpaper folds over the round part, I moved it a little to the left so you can see the right corner. Then the upper metal piece, also moved up for demonstration, fits down into the bottom piece, wedging the sandpaper in place. I’ve not seen the tool in action. It is very well-made and feels expensive. It is available from outlets that specialize in book and archive restoral supplies. I’ve never seen such a store and I’d like to.
ADDENDUM
You want what? Oh, the crossword answers. In order, “ici”, “stats”, and “lii”.
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
