An opening learning
I can’t remember whether I’ve ever written my journal in this manner or not before. So here goes.
Running into a couple adequately qualified old geezers; one remarked he was eating his meals using both hands holding a single table spoon. The other gentleman found by using small amounts of honey om his spoon this was the only way he could his peas upon spoon. This his only way to eat them. All said, all us laughing, and all done some of us are finding ways to stave off starvation, saying to Hell with proper table manners. When hungry we’ll find ways to keep on shoveling it in.
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Ignoring every truth I’ve written up until now I was about to take on the kitchen floor. I swear I’ve run plum into a psycho-so-automatic condition the likes of this. Let any unpleasant task come up before me, my knee about went out. Then trying to figure out I’m going to do with all the stuff sitting around (in way) I gave up.
I was earlier making better headway outdoors when the 4-180 White almost started. There I was leaning heavily on the ignition switch the engine hitting any number of cylinders, My thinking it was going, I let go the key and it rolled but a couple times and quit. Trying the ignition again the batteries were dead cold flat out of any remaining energy. The HD battery charger’s on it for three/four more hours again. It could be Friday before the weather warms enough before the 4-180 will start for me. Nuts! I say this for projected weather forecast is predicting -2* for tonight. Argh! This a whole lot of headway I’m not making.
Spent some time in the shop this afternoon enough to use the sand blasting cabinet to clean some quadrabike parts for mike’s welding. Welded I’ll be sawing the axis ends off, find centers, and counter-bore them for stubbing in the jack shaft ends for solid weldings.
Okay thinking some on that kitchen floor I decided I had better at last find a way to clear it. One of the boys supposedly bringing another m son’s up for a two week working stay I packed about six fourty some pound weight boxes with food stuffs he can take back home with him. I don’t know where they all come from, only Frieda has decided she ain’t cooken like she used to. Cans of vegetables covering the box bottoms, spaghetti packed on top with oat meal, dried beans of sum ample varieties, cheese and sauces. When he’s got his boys this stuff will help him feed them. Where it all come from? Frieda’s shopping lists. I fill’em, she lets the stuff sit in accumulating bags topping each other as well as may be expected to let us walk by. Okay, I’ve managed to clear the most the kitchen floor and got all this stuff piling up in the dinning area if I remember where it is? Oh, never mind me, I get to eat at six, and a half hour later I can watch Mike weld me some quadrabike parts, and then turn the charger off for another night.
As I keep hopping roaming subject to subject and right back again I can see the filthy kitchen floor. All my bottled fruit juices, pops, beers, and wines lined up in the hall some of them re-occupying their respective empty places in the frig, I done good. One bag of trash is gift wrapped and outside for next weeks pick up. All that’s left is a bag tators, cat dishes and sand box, A couple milk crates for supporting open feed sacks living their lives out as handy throwaway trash cans. Standing by waiting attention is the mop bucket. Good Gosh Golly LeRoy, I’ve been making headway. I’ve even stuffed three Frieda’s library book bags in the mail box for book returns.
I’ve supped, seen Mike and he’s welded my parts. Now all I got-a do is do some fancy sawing, center punching and drilling four holes.
Well, this has to be enough of this. I’ve got to hit the hay early this night. I want to pay my last last respects to a once upon a time old friend. He’ll be missed some. It’s a bitter end when a man loses his health and his sensibilities along with it at the same time. They‘d be no use my saying he should have taken care of himself, unless my words should be a mindful truth for others falling ill, to take heed and live the gift of live only once given them. Such a waste, he denied himself listening to his friends and those who had loved him.
Here’s wish for all those with the good sense…….
“Rainbows.”
Fernan