One year ago today: June 4, 2022, home alone.
Five years ago today: June 4, 2018, in the attic.
Nine years ago today: June 4, 2014, Winter Haven, by train.
Random years ago today: June 4, 2015, Thrift store deadbeats.
Why am I still in Tennessee? Work. I stayed up late last night writing letters. Iit is amusing how many people will presume these letters are due to my being an old-fashioned Boomer-type who missed the word-processing phase of life. Productivity picks up when I’m in Tennessee and today was a good one. The lawn mowers all acted up in the sense they were hard to start. I left them in condition where a light tug was all that’s needed. Nope, time to get the Reb a cordless, maybe for some anniversary. Let me check the June reminders. Nothing, June is big around here. These keys got thrown off a cliff. Return tomorrow for the tale from the trailer court.
I could not cut those branches, folks. No need to lecture me on age, but that was a true disappointment. In the shed I keep a backsaw with the blade on backwards (so it cuts on the pull stroke) and cut six or seven of the branches down. Damn, they fell, but I felt cramps trying to pick them up. It worked out, the Reb can’t lift them but she dragged them away to the brush pile. I am not one who denies the aging process but that don’t mean I welcome it. In other words, I usually find out my increasing inabilities the hard way.
Nor is he rid of the skunk smell yet. A week, meaning in the wild he would be a goner as the game gets warned. It would appear the skunk spray also has a chemical harshness as his skin when dark pink under the very spots he got it the worst. That’s my boy, he then jumped on his $100 bed trying to rub off the aroma. After repeat washings and a few days in the sun, the bed might be thrown out.
Getting the yard shipshape and loading the van took the rest of the working day, including up and down the ladder some more to set that motion detector. Finally, I had to leave it. I don’t like the Reb climbing ladders when I’m not around, I just don’t. I baked two small sweet loaves, and made a trip to the recycling bins. The doggies were along and we wound up walking the school grounds near the Blue Turtle (marina). They are pet-friendly so I suggested dinner, but she preferred a movie.
High collar tuxedo.
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Off to Opry Mills, where we chose an action-comedy called "The Machine”. I think, we got four movies with similar names. This was the one about the comedian who gets mixed up with the Russian mafia. They rob a train and years later, the head of the gang sees his act and wants his watch back. Would I recommend the movie? Yep, they did some incredible special effects, particularly aging his father and himself back as a teenager. One realistic portrayal was his teenage daughter who he does not suspect is a little sleaze-bucket. I’m ever amazed how many parents think the rebellion is just a phase and their daughters are really good girls.
Boiled chicken that’s what this is. Somebody had the nerve to joke that the Reb’s doggies were spoiled, which miffed her a bit, which stressed the doggies. So I made them this chicken treat to help insure there would be no long-term trauma from all these unwarranted pet observations. The only issue I have with the pets is how they do as they please around me. The Reb says that does not come from her side of the family. I wonder what she means by that.
JZ is not answering his phone, never a great sign when he’s under pressure. He’s fine, I mean, but I kid you know when I say he’s not one to slow down when he’s supposed to. Ah, but don’t think that extends to others. Example, he thinks is it amazing how I “still” get up on stage “at my age” and party. You figure that one out. The guy who drinks Canadian Mist whiskey straight figures I’m getting too old to play bass. He’s like 13 months younger than me and spends that last month pointing out there are “two years” difference in our ages. Hand me my bass, this is not negotiable.
(Britney Spears)
