Flood pants. Yep. Think we are going to need them. High water pants or puddle jumpers. Hipwaders? Or maybe a tractor and chains. Can't tell you how many days in the last week, the heavy rains have been just sitting over the Iowa/Missouri border. However, Himself and I have an opportunity to run to Mo for three days so we are scadaddling. We shove off tomorrow after work and we'll be home Monday.
We'll go to Too and get the mowing done and check on the new Harley and then to III to rough it in the rain and/or mud. Even if we have to walk in and cart food and supplies in on the 4-wheeler, we are going!
Maybe we'll have some high jinx and adventure. Maybe there will be stories to write upon our return. Maybe Himself will be (finally) inspired to add to this journal again. Or maybe not.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Next generation
I have been wanting one of these for the last couple of years. Here, a while back, I e-mailed my friend at Too and told her I was looking for a golf cart. I got an immediate response back that she was wanting to sell her Harley; she would keep the Cushman but she had a Harley for sale.
Sold! I screamed back at her. It is mine! Don't tell anyone else. I want it! And now I have it. 3 wheeled. 20 years old, I suppose. Or older. It was dirty inside and out. But with Himself's help and a bottle of bleach, we have that scooter cleaned up and ready to roll!
Himself took on the chore of cleaning the air filter of 10 year's worth of dirt and grime. I got a bucket of bleach water and started in and soon Himself joined me. Another neighbor brought a bottle of "BAM!" and we gotter cleaned up.
By the time we left today, she was running strong!
Oh. Then I put up a canopy to help keep her dry. I put it up yesterday too and a thunderstorm with wind came through and knocked the canopy down. I put it up again. We'll put her in the shed for the winters but hopefully she can stand out, at hand, for the summers.
After all that was said and done, Himself said, "now we have joined the older generation." I said, "don't you believe it!"
III. Finally.
We have had lawn mower trouble this year. Okay, I haven’t. Himself has had lawn mower problems. Himself has had plenty of lawn mower trouble this spring. One earlier visit to Missouri, all three riding mowers didn’tstart or gave him major trouble.
Himself prides himself on being able to coddle, cobble, coax and/or bribe a mower to run long after most people would have given up and junked the thing. It is a matter of pride with him – one that I do not understand but after 38 years I have (almost) come to accept it. However, on those occasions when he is absolutely infuriated with a machine and ranting and raving fire and brimstone, I beg him to go get a new one. I plead. I beat my chest and tear my hair – go, go! Go buy a new mower!
But then he tinkers and tickles and gets that damn mower going again and we both forget the awful frustration and the awful language and we let it go . . . again.
This time, we had good luck at Too. We came down Friday evening and Himself started my mower. Oh wait. He and I started my mower as it takes two – one to sit on the seat and turn the key and the other to apply a small hand tool somewhere inside the engine compartment -- but anyway it started and then his did too and we mowed all of Too that evening. Sigh; what a relief.
Saturday we got up and went to III. The lane has been so muddy what with all the rain but we got in and Himself got the mower started with relatively little trouble. My job was to take the 4-wheeler up the lane and pick up all the sticks and branches. I got a head start so I almost managed to keep ahead of the mower but of course I can’t pick up sticks while seated on the 4-wheeler so I was off more than I was on and at some point Himself caught and passed me. He went on and I cut and pruned and picked up branches and all was good. Then it happened. The mower threw a belt -- which it is want to do. A trip to the cabin for tools and equipment and Himself went to work putting wrong to right. I started back down the lane, continuing my clean up effort. I barely got worked all the way down the lane bending, picking up and throwing sticks when the call came on the walkie talkie. Bring the marine battery out of the cabin and the jumper cables. "Can do; over and out; roger!" (hey, I watched Sky King every Saturday morning when I was a kid!) I pull the 4-wheeler right up to the porch and “walk” the battery out the door and across the porch. One big “lift” and I have the battery up on the front rack of the mechanical mule.
(At this point, I am reminding myself that some people actually have to go to the gym and pay real money to build muscle. Not me tho! I have plenty of opportunity to build muscle in my “real” life.)
Up the hill with the 4-wheeler and Himself hooks up the battery cables. Finally with a few coaxing, creative words, the mower starts. Himself jumps on the beast and patting himself on the back is out there mowing again. I jump back on my steady steed, the 4-wheel Mule, and I am back down the hill to more brush cutting and trail clearing.
An hour goes by and Himself has mowed “the top” and here he comes down the Lane. I am still puttering around, working, when I notice the mower is acting up. It seems it is losing power. Himself stops, starts, stops again. Eventually I realize that Himself is now driving that mower down the hill in a beeline to the big ravine. Whoa! My mind takes in the series of events and I realize that, oh d_ _ _, I left the camera at Too and he is going to drive that thing over the edge into the ravine! I follow him but eventually the mower dies two feet from the edge. Himself is off the mower. He is pulling the (new) battery out, cussing and stomping. I think that he is about to push the mower over the edge so in an effort to lighten the mood, I stomp up and curse that stupid machine “You @#$*th^* *&^%e# machine, I spit out. That took Himself completely off guard because I never talk like that and he straightens up and laughs out loud. We both stand there and laugh about how he was going to literally run that mower over the edge and watch it crash to the bottom . . . then we turn and walk back to the cabin.
Himself prides himself on being able to coddle, cobble, coax and/or bribe a mower to run long after most people would have given up and junked the thing. It is a matter of pride with him – one that I do not understand but after 38 years I have (almost) come to accept it. However, on those occasions when he is absolutely infuriated with a machine and ranting and raving fire and brimstone, I beg him to go get a new one. I plead. I beat my chest and tear my hair – go, go! Go buy a new mower!
But then he tinkers and tickles and gets that damn mower going again and we both forget the awful frustration and the awful language and we let it go . . . again.
This time, we had good luck at Too. We came down Friday evening and Himself started my mower. Oh wait. He and I started my mower as it takes two – one to sit on the seat and turn the key and the other to apply a small hand tool somewhere inside the engine compartment -- but anyway it started and then his did too and we mowed all of Too that evening. Sigh; what a relief.
Saturday we got up and went to III. The lane has been so muddy what with all the rain but we got in and Himself got the mower started with relatively little trouble. My job was to take the 4-wheeler up the lane and pick up all the sticks and branches. I got a head start so I almost managed to keep ahead of the mower but of course I can’t pick up sticks while seated on the 4-wheeler so I was off more than I was on and at some point Himself caught and passed me. He went on and I cut and pruned and picked up branches and all was good. Then it happened. The mower threw a belt -- which it is want to do. A trip to the cabin for tools and equipment and Himself went to work putting wrong to right. I started back down the lane, continuing my clean up effort. I barely got worked all the way down the lane bending, picking up and throwing sticks when the call came on the walkie talkie. Bring the marine battery out of the cabin and the jumper cables. "Can do; over and out; roger!" (hey, I watched Sky King every Saturday morning when I was a kid!) I pull the 4-wheeler right up to the porch and “walk” the battery out the door and across the porch. One big “lift” and I have the battery up on the front rack of the mechanical mule.
(At this point, I am reminding myself that some people actually have to go to the gym and pay real money to build muscle. Not me tho! I have plenty of opportunity to build muscle in my “real” life.)
Up the hill with the 4-wheeler and Himself hooks up the battery cables. Finally with a few coaxing, creative words, the mower starts. Himself jumps on the beast and patting himself on the back is out there mowing again. I jump back on my steady steed, the 4-wheel Mule, and I am back down the hill to more brush cutting and trail clearing.
An hour goes by and Himself has mowed “the top” and here he comes down the Lane. I am still puttering around, working, when I notice the mower is acting up. It seems it is losing power. Himself stops, starts, stops again. Eventually I realize that Himself is now driving that mower down the hill in a beeline to the big ravine. Whoa! My mind takes in the series of events and I realize that, oh d_ _ _, I left the camera at Too and he is going to drive that thing over the edge into the ravine! I follow him but eventually the mower dies two feet from the edge. Himself is off the mower. He is pulling the (new) battery out, cussing and stomping. I think that he is about to push the mower over the edge so in an effort to lighten the mood, I stomp up and curse that stupid machine “You @#$*th^* *&^%e# machine, I spit out. That took Himself completely off guard because I never talk like that and he straightens up and laughs out loud. We both stand there and laugh about how he was going to literally run that mower over the edge and watch it crash to the bottom . . . then we turn and walk back to the cabin.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Showing their age . . .
Last visit to Mo, weekend of May 24 & 25, I cleaned out the top shelves of the kitchen cupboards. I took out this entertainment page. Recognize anyone? Of course not! You are all too young. But the date was July 13, 1988.
That is about a month shy of 20 years! No wonder that paper was getting a little ratty! :)
I used brown paper grocery bags to replace the entertainment page. I dated and signed the bag so that someone, in 20 years time, will have a smile when they decide it is time to clean cupboards! I hope it is me, again!
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Welcome sign is out
but will we ever see it again? I want to go to Mo even if we have to walk down the drive way. Himself has taken a personal offense at the weather and seems he is going to get even with it by not going there . . .
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