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We’ve had a few days of strong winds lately. The kind of wind that rises up through the trees and rattles the house a bit. A few days ago, I watched out the window while my neighbors were moving around their yards with their heads down…frantically running...desperately gathering their trashcans and making their way to their cars with keyless entry devices in their hands and madly pushing buttons while their neckties slapped them in the face. They were markedly distressed.
I decided to get out there and feel it for myself. Not that I was worried about my trashcan. I wasn’t. It’s only a trashcan. And I wasn’t worried about my necktie either because I don’t own one. I just wanted to feel the wind.
It was a good strong wind, but not nearly as exciting as my neighbors had let on. I judge my neighbors were a bit dramatic with the whole running for the trashcan routine, especially in light of the fact that much of the country is getting real storms.
I suppose that’s just the way people are. Dramatic. I accept that as part of life, but it scares me that these people will be voting in November. Then again, I suppose it scares them that I will be voting; the strange guy that comes outside and acts as if trashcans are just trashcans.
Anyway, I must say I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have anything to fix after the high winds. That’s the way retirement is. You look for things to make yourself useful.
That’s when you’re glad to have an old truck.
I went in the garage and crawled under the Power Wagon. Seems the pinion that drives the speedometer isn’t driving the speedometer anymore. Not that it really matters. I suppose I’d get a natural sense if I were going too fast in my Power Wagon. It hasn’t happened yet.
If you’re waiting for a point to be made, you should check a different thread. I am only writing because I abandoned the speedometer project after an hour of straining my surgically repaired neck and I don’t have any shingles to replace on the house. So I just pulled up a bucket here ‘til I find something else to do.
One of the gratifying things about life in general is that nothing lasts forever, and even this rambling post will have its own twilight and everyone can get back to their day, which for me started with banging my leg on the bedpost….again.
That’s about the fifth time this week I’ve hit my knee on that post and it got me to thinking about the other five hundred times I’ve done the same thing. It made me think about paying more attention. I might have fewer stitches and pins if I slowed down a bit. If I had slowed down a few years ago at that house fire, I wouldn’t have fallen through the floor. If I hadn’t fallen through the floor, I wouldn’t have a surgically repaired neck. If I didn’t have a surgically repaired neck, I would have fixed my speedometer. If my speedometer worked, I’d be reminded to slow down. But since it didn’t turn out that way, I guess kicking a bedpost every now and then is necessary. It makes a guy slow down.
And I’m proud to say I didn’t curse nor scream one bit at that bedpost and there’s something to be said for that. And I do slow down enough to notice that a trashcan is just a trashcan. Wind is just wind. And it doesn’t matter if my neighbors do vote in November because my vote will erase theirs anyway.
I decided to get out there and feel it for myself. Not that I was worried about my trashcan. I wasn’t. It’s only a trashcan. And I wasn’t worried about my necktie either because I don’t own one. I just wanted to feel the wind.
It was a good strong wind, but not nearly as exciting as my neighbors had let on. I judge my neighbors were a bit dramatic with the whole running for the trashcan routine, especially in light of the fact that much of the country is getting real storms.
I suppose that’s just the way people are. Dramatic. I accept that as part of life, but it scares me that these people will be voting in November. Then again, I suppose it scares them that I will be voting; the strange guy that comes outside and acts as if trashcans are just trashcans.
Anyway, I must say I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have anything to fix after the high winds. That’s the way retirement is. You look for things to make yourself useful.
That’s when you’re glad to have an old truck.
I went in the garage and crawled under the Power Wagon. Seems the pinion that drives the speedometer isn’t driving the speedometer anymore. Not that it really matters. I suppose I’d get a natural sense if I were going too fast in my Power Wagon. It hasn’t happened yet.
If you’re waiting for a point to be made, you should check a different thread. I am only writing because I abandoned the speedometer project after an hour of straining my surgically repaired neck and I don’t have any shingles to replace on the house. So I just pulled up a bucket here ‘til I find something else to do.
One of the gratifying things about life in general is that nothing lasts forever, and even this rambling post will have its own twilight and everyone can get back to their day, which for me started with banging my leg on the bedpost….again.
That’s about the fifth time this week I’ve hit my knee on that post and it got me to thinking about the other five hundred times I’ve done the same thing. It made me think about paying more attention. I might have fewer stitches and pins if I slowed down a bit. If I had slowed down a few years ago at that house fire, I wouldn’t have fallen through the floor. If I hadn’t fallen through the floor, I wouldn’t have a surgically repaired neck. If I didn’t have a surgically repaired neck, I would have fixed my speedometer. If my speedometer worked, I’d be reminded to slow down. But since it didn’t turn out that way, I guess kicking a bedpost every now and then is necessary. It makes a guy slow down.
And I’m proud to say I didn’t curse nor scream one bit at that bedpost and there’s something to be said for that. And I do slow down enough to notice that a trashcan is just a trashcan. Wind is just wind. And it doesn’t matter if my neighbors do vote in November because my vote will erase theirs anyway.
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