Milk gravy on biscuits and other food for thought

Idle hands are the Devil's weapons of opportunity.

Busy hands belonging to an untrained but highly experienced sidewalk mechanic are Murphy's playthings.

Wednesday morning, as I finished off my second cup of coffee while trying to determine what chore was most deserving of my considerable efforts, I realized that this was one of those rare days when nothing pressing was demanding my immediate attention.  What would I do with my time then?  It was supposed to start raining at some point in time today. 

I know!...My old riding mower barely made it back to the storage shed the last time I used it.  I suppose I could see what I could do to give it a little more pep.  That mower must be something like fifteen years old now and other than regular maintenance such as oil changes, new spark plugs, keeping the blade sharp, replacing broken or worn out belts a couple times; replacing the two front tires was the only repair I couldn't do myself during that time.

I got my tools and started checking things out.  I removed the spark plug and it looked like it could use a replacement.  Removed the air filter and it also needed changing.  I could barely see parts of the carburetor that were not concealed by oil soaked dust and grass debris.  The adjusting screws had never been touched by me.  If there's one thing I've learned over the years it is that I am not good with carburetors.  If I turn an adjustment screw on one it is sure to be turned in the wrong direction and I can never seem to get it back to where it was or make a positive difference in the performance of the engine it was fueling.

It may be a while before I need to use this mower again so now would be the perfect time to have the carburetor cleaned and rebuilt by a professional. 

The spark arrestor (or what passes for a muffler on a small engine) was blocking the screws I needed to remove so I took a 3/8 ratchet wrench to the 5/16 Hex Head bolts that were holding it on.  Mr. Murphy was holding my hand as I proceeded.  The first bolt loosened right away.  I backed it out a couple turns....THEN it locked up.  That happens a lot to any bolts used in high heat applications like exhaust fixtures. I changed directions and tightened it up again. I've had that help once in a while.  Then, as I switched back to the remove direction, it made it to the same spot and tightened up again.  My Dad used to say "If it don't fit...FORCE it!"  If that doesn't do it...hit it with a hammer...it was probably broken already anyway.  I'm not the man I used to be but evidently, I still have a little strength remaining in these flabby, old arms.  I was only using a 3/8 ratchet wrench with a 1/2 socket on it...what's the chance that I'll get this bolt out if it doesn't want to come?  I gave it one more try and suddenly the bolt was turning effortlessly.  As I extracted it completely, that's when I saw that the threaded end of it had broken off in the hole.

MAN! They don't make bolts like they used to...I thought.  Well!  If it hadn't broken off, how would I ever have gotten the carburetor off this mower?  I'll worry about getting the broken part of it out of the hole later.  That's what I told myself then.  In my mind I'm thinking "Perhaps one bolt will hold it on OK."  I soaked it with Liquid Wrench spray in preparation for the inevitable task before me. 

I drained the gas from the tank and used that for cleaning parts as I removed them.  I finished the disassembly just before the rain drops started falling.  I took the carburetor, air filter and spark plug with me to the mower repair shop just up the road.  They COULD rebuild the carburetor for me; had to order the spark plug I needed but had the new air filter.  I left everything there until they call me saying it was done.  I would pick up and pay for it all later.

I don't know how long that will take but it will give some time to attempt to drill out and re-tap that bolt hole before I try to put it all back together again. 

I was not aware of the exact time, nor can I be positively sure as to the day of the week; I can however assure you that the event which would follow in the next few minutes has been indelibly etched upon my faltering mental systems.  I may not recall where I filed it but when I do rediscover it, it will stand out from most of the files associated with and included among the small number of such memorable events because the depth of the impression will appear so much deeper than any of the others.

We carried our own cups of freshly poured, piping hot coffee outside and sat down where we normally would around the glass-topped patio table.  The retractable awning had been deployed all night long, preventing any possible dew from settling on the afore mentioned table or the chair cushions.

The sun had not yet peeped over the tree line in the distance or the horizon thousands of miles beyond that. It was pre-dawn but there was plenty of ambient light surrounding us.

Maureen lit up a cigarette, drew from it deeply, inhaled and exhaled the smoke into the slight breeze, which thankfully flowed in a direction away from myself. I don't try to get her to stop the harmful habit. She didn't treat me that way back when I was still smoking.  I'm the same way about that as I have been with my own personal beliefs.  I've been a Christian for 24 years now.  She knows and accepts that fact.  That's enough for me.  I can only hope that she has been paying attention to how I've lived my life since then and that one day, she too will desire to ask Christ into her life as He wills it. I've convinced myself that He will deal with her directly in His own good time...not mine. 

The coffee tasted wonderful.  That first cup is so special.  It has a purpose and it does it well.  Slowly, we are becoming fully awake and aware of our surroundings.  Few words are exchanged between us. We can hear one another taking deep breaths and enjoying the pure elation of simply being alive at such a time as this.

It was a beautiful spring day, all around us was the grandeur of God's creation.  The sights, the sounds, the fragrances; "surely it doesn't get any better than this" was the thought that lingered in my own mind.

Then, suddenly, the faint, glowing orange rim of the rising sun appeared in the eastern sky.  Both of us had noticed and remained silent because we didn't want to miss one tiny bit of the experience.  Her voice was first to break the silence.

"During most of my working life, whenever I tried to imagine what it would be like to be retired; this is exactly how I imagined it would be."

I can't begin to explain how I felt at that moment.  I can only say that I was somewhere beyond "Happy."

I pursued happiness just like our constitution assured me that I had the right to do.  I pursued it until it caught up with me one day when I least expected it. 

Maureen's words impacted me with the force of a sledgehammer striking a soft, lead plate. It left a circular crater with a raised rim.  Truth rushed in and filled the sudden void the blow had caused and I sat back, relaxed and realized that at that moment in time, my world was a giant step closer to completeness.

That's all I've ever asked from life.  To know that in some small way, I had contributed to the reaching of a life-long goal of someone I've loved more than myself for all these years.

As the sun continued to climb in the eastern sky, I turned to gaze upon my sweet bride and realized that she was now being bathed in the shining light of our golden years together. 

It has long been said that in the spring, a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love.

I am one that would agree with such thinking...at least as it applies to young men.

However, when one reaches a certain age, like 65 or more and I am now 67 going on to who knows when, my "fancy" still  turns to thoughts of love but it's love for something other than the opposite sex. 

Sure! I still love my younger wife.  I love her as much now as I did on the day I first proposed to her but it's a different kind of love.  I don't look at her and think of sex very much anymore because to do so always ends up with me being frustrated...not sexually but still emotionally which is sort of like it.

Thank God for a mind's ability to remember the good stuff from one's past.  If it wasn't for my memory, when someone mentions SEX I'd just get this blank look on my face and ask "What's that?"

Alright! Enough of that.  I've gone off on a tangent of some kind and got away from why I started writing this entry.

When I say that in the spring this old mind of mine turns to thoughts of love...it's love for the out-of-doors; love for being outside and doing stuff like working in the yard and gardening.

Though my fancy has changed, it still sounds kind of like love and sex.

For instance....I went out and bought myself a new "HOE" this year.  That got me a little excited but not in the same way as sex once did.

Actually, my love for yard work and gardening is exactly why I haven't been posting very much of late.  When one reaches my age there is only so much energy to work with.  Energy is rationed out each day.  Use up what you have in your tank and that's all there is until tomorrow.  The rest of the time till then is spent laying down and resting, trying to recuperate and recharge the old battery.

Aleve, Advil or generic ibuprofen has become my best friends.  If it were not for them, no amount of renewed energy could get this old, aching body up and moving the next day or two after an extended period of exertion outside, playing in the dirt.

Spring and new, growing grass and weeds wait for no man.  It's either tend the lawn or have it rage out of control and require professional help to get it back in line.  I can't afford professional help, not on our fixed income.

The extended drought last year took a terrible toll on our lawn.  We couldn't afford to water it as often and as much as the dry, sunny conditions demanded.  I just stopped looking at it and let nature do what it was determined to do.  Doing that came at a high cost.  Everything outside these four walls suffered because of it. Thanks to air conditioning; inside the house, we were cool and as comfortable as could be expected with the thermostat set at 78 degrees.  At least we didn't turn brown, shrivel up and die like the growing plants did outside. We are getting there but it's taking longer than one growing season without enough water and too much sun to do it.

I tried to accomplish something out there each and every day.  Some days it was quite a lot and others it was just "something" but it all counts in the end.  I have managed to clean up all the dead stuff and planted grass seed.  It was so bad, I had to resort to accepting help from a younger neighbor on our block who just happened to have a new "slit-seeding" machine...one that his father gave him for some reason.  I tried to run that machine the day he was outside over-seeding his own lawn just to see if it was possible.  He said he would let me borrow it if I could deal with it.

I could NOT.  That machine kicked my butt and it didn't have to strain to do it.  It was so heavy and the fact that my neighbor didn't have enough knowledge or experience to set it up properly didn't help the situation.  Also, it did not come with a "User's Manual" for some reason.  I wonder what his Dad did with it?  I know I scared my neighbor when I just threw up my arms and got away from that monster of a machine and went to the middle of his driveway, bending over, placing my hands on my knees and started struggling for my next breath of air.  I didn't think I was going to make it for a minute there.  My neighbor agreed...something was definitely wrong.  That machine should be that much work to use. 

I suggested that it might help to set the slitting blades a little deeper, allowing the friction of them slicing through the soil to provide some traction to the forward movement of the machine as a whole.  It did not have powered wheels of any kind.  It depended on the operator and something else to move it along.  I figured it must have been designed with the moving blades in mind for that purpose and it seems I was correct.  I love it when I am right about something.

Even after that discovery, this old man was afraid to attempt doing all the work that needed to be done in this yard.  I don't believe I hinted at all about my need for help.  Let's just say my neighbor is a sensitive kind of guy with a quick mind and a passionate heart.  He could see my problem and simply offered to do it for me if I wanted him  to.  So, that's how most of my yard got properly seeded.  The smaller areas I did with my Mantis Roto-tiller and good, old fashioned manual labor spread out over several consecutive days and rest periods.  Of course, I offered to pay him for his help and because of his current financial situation...he allowed me to.  Thirty dollars is not much pay for all the work he did but it was the best I could do at the time.

So...there you have it.  What my spring has been like...........So far.  OH! It's not over with....not by a long shot.  There will surely be more of my long-winded descriptions of what life is like for one that is up there in years and hasn't taken particularly good care of himself during that time.

I know it makes for boring reading.  Thanks for reading and hearing me out.

Birthday girl lap of luxury

By the way...that's a brand new bedspread she is laying on.  She's the only one that could get away with it.  Did I tell you that she was Mommy's favorite child?

Recently, while looking around my VOX neighborhood, I noticed something called “The Question of the day.”  That day the question was “What are your family responsibilities?”  It struck me as an interesting question so later I devoted some pondering time to it.

At first the thought entered my mind that no one would read a list that I might compose that included all my personal duties within my family, legitimate or imagined.

Another thought I had, which was also a question was, “How does one become responsible for something; anything within their family group?”

I didn’t believe that anyone would enjoy reading the list of 100 things about me that I composed a year or two ago either but I came to find out just how wrong I was about that also.

I want to take a stab at making a list of my family responsibilities in spite of that risk that posting it here has the potential for boring lots of folk, or not.  For that statement to be true I would need to have a lot of regular readers and I don’t believe that I do, really.

The first thing on my list should be:

• Being wrong about more things than anyone else in the family.

I believe that may well be because I am so eager to show off my accumulated life skills.

Among my siblings I have always been known as “Professor Know-it-all” and for good reason.

It’s because I’ve always believed that I DID…Know-it-all that is. When it turns out that I don’t know it all then I am deemed to be wrong, thus the motive for item number one on my list.

All joking aside, I do seem to have a much longer list of responsibilities than any other family member.

In an effort to have anyone who may be reading my lengthy list to be fully informed and aware, I feel I should provide another list and that is a list of who it is that makes up MY little family group.

Me, myself and I (Husband, brother-in-law and human to our pets)

Maureen (wife, sister and top human to our pets)

Gail (sister to Maureen, sister-in-law to myself and number two human to our pets)

Jenny (Top Dog, spoiled rotten Bitch that she is) Can I say that here?  Sure I can

Lucy (Cat) enough said.

On with the list:

1. EVERYTHING…especially when anything goes wrong with anything.

OK! I took the easy way out.  That’s the way it seems to me but we all know that I am wrong so often that this is probably one of those times.

Actually it would probably be easier to make a list of the things I know for certain I am not responsible for in our family group.

Just as I thought!  I can’t come up with one thing.

This evening we had bacon and tomato sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner.
It was while I was tending the pot of soup while Maureen was frying the bacon that the details of one of life's strangest phenomenons occurred to me.

Perhaps you too have noticed how impossible it is to heat a pot of tomato soup hot enough to allow for you to ladle it into a bowl or in this case, a soup cup and have it remain hot enough to enjoy.  I mean soup SHOULD be hot, so hot that one needs to blow on it before sipping it from the spoon.  The only way one can accomplish that with tomato soup is to eat it right out of the pot while the soup is boiling in said pot.

There’s just no way any of you could imagine what kind of day this day has been.  Believe me…life is certainly stranger than fiction. It didn’t take a lot of creative energy to come up with that old saying.

It started out just fine.  Maureen whipped up some of her now famous and renown sausage gravy that it only took her thirty years to perfect but it was worth the wait.  She also made some scrambled eggs and some canned buttermilk biscuits.  It was a breakfast fit for any King I’m acquainted with.  That’s not saying a lot but it says something.

The weather was supposed to be great today.  It was!  That’s not the problem.  I’ve got so much yard work that needs to get done before spring is gone and it will probably be a challenge trying to squeeze it all in before the deadline.  I decided to start off by taking the five gallon gas can up to the local station and filling it.  I can figure a little and with the price of gasoline right now, I figured there was a good chance it would take neigh on to eighteen dollars to fill it.  I was very wrong.  It only took ten dollars and ten cents.  There must have been more left in it then I had calculated.  That’s when I made the first mistake of the day.  I should have picked up some oil also while I was there so I could change the oil in the two mowers while I was getting all my powered gear ready for the up-coming season.  I filled the can and headed back home without any oil.  That realization would cost me another short trip.  Jenny didn’t mind at all.  She will take all the short rides I will share with her any time.

It was as I took the gas can out of the car that I took notice of how filthy it was. I decided to clean it up before I did anything else.  I got a bottle of spray cleaner and a small scrub brush and took the gas can and the cleaning items to the hose located at the front of the house. I was busy making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear when Maureen came to the front door and informed me that the smoke alarm upstairs in the hallway was beeping again.  OK I said.  I thought that was all that was required for such a bit of information.  See how wrong I can be AGAIN.  Next thing I knew, Gail came to the kitchen door that leads out into the garage and is yelling at me that the smoke alarm was blaring and Maureen couldn’t do anything to make it stop.

In my head, I’m asking all kinds of questions as I rushed to the rescue.  The noise was deafening and only got worse as I climbed the five stairs to the upper landing. Maureen had a chair sitting there to get up on to reach the alarm.  I had just put in three new smoke alarms. Why was this one acting up?  I reached up, twisted it loose from its base, turned it over and pulled out the new nine volt battery in has installed only a week or so ago.  The noise did not stop.  Turns out it was the twenty year old smoke alarm that we all assumed had bitten the dust many years ago.  They are wired into the main power source and didn’t require any batteries. I had assigned them a non-functioning classification a long time ago.  I have no idea what set it off and why it wouldn’t stop blaring.  There certainly wasn’t any smoke in the area. I didn’t know how to access the inside of it.  I simply got up on the chair, glanced at the housing and read “Twist to remove.”  I applied all the grip and power I had in me to get the cover off. It came off alright.  It broke the three mounting pins, shearing them cleanly from the mounting fixtures which held them.  All that accomplished was to remove any barrier between the noise generating mechanism and my ear, giving me clearer reception.  I used the cover as something to beat the little housing with that was making all that racket.  The more I beat it, the more sporadic the tone became.  It became intermittent and then the periods of silence grew longer and longer until it stopped completely.  Everyone in the house appreciated it, especially the dog and the cat and myself since I was closest to it.  The dog and cat had moved to the point in the house that was farthest away from the sound.  That was somewhere in the pantry area down in the basement. It took me a long time to determine that I couldn’t cut off the power to the old smoke alarms. I flipped every circuit breaker in the box and had no affect on the tiny indicator lamp inside the unit upstairs that Maureen was watching so she could yell to me that it was off.  I had to do something else.  I went back upstairs, got up on the chair again and looked the situation over. “AHA!” I exclaimed as I spotted the release mechanism for the circuit board on which the main smoke alarm elements were mounted.  I pushed it aside and pulled down on the circuit board and all the “guts” came out in my hand.  It simply pulled away from the little plastic connector that was mounted in the smoke alarm base.  “THERE! That should do it.  It won’t be making any more alarm noises for no reason.” 

That’s the way this whole day went.  I went from putting out one fire after another. NO! Not actual fires.  That’s just a metaphor. Everything I put my hand to turned into another problem. I know…that’s what I get for working on Sunday.  You don’t really want to go there…believe me. I’m in no mood for any of that stuff.

This entry is already two pages long and I’ve barely scratched the surface of the details involved in such a great tragedy of a day.  I’ll spare you the details now and by tomorrow or the next day I probably won’t be able to remember any of it.  That’s one of the good things about losing one’s short term memory.

April 3^rd, 1971, the day Maureen and I tied the knot, so to speak.  Actually, it was more like Super gluing than knot tying.  The bond was non-breakable after only a few moments and that bond has been tested endlessly over the last 37 years.  It may have stretched a little now and then, but it has never been broken.

“Happy Anniversary!” she blurted out yesterday morning as we sat here in this room watching what the DVR had recorded for us the night before.  It’s just what we normally do on any other day. It didn’t feel wrong for either of us, even if this was a special day, one that should be celebrated.  We HAD plans but they were scheduled for “later.”  We would do some shopping, then take in an early movie over at the megaplex and then decide on some place to get a good meal.  That should get us back home around three in the afternoon. 

The movie starts at 11:45 so that gave us an hour to look for a new computer cart to replace the huge cabinet my computer set-up now occupies.  We found two that could suffice so we decided to mull it over and make a decision after watching 10,000 BC, our movie of choice. The movie was pretty good.  At least it had a happy ending and we love happy endings.  We will only pray that what we are planning for our little family room with also have a happy ending.

We decided which one of the two choices was best, stopped to pick one up on the way to getting that anniversary meal we were looking forward to, got it loaded in the back of the RAV-4 and headed over to Dixie Highway.  Maureen suggested this little Italian place she had gone by many times lately, often telling Gail that she intended to try it one day.  One Day was here!

Really, I don’t know how to describe it to you.  Actually I believe the less I share with you…the better.  Allow me to sum it all up with one statement.  I don’t know why the health department hasn’t closed it down by now because of the countless violations I observed within five minutes of walking in the front door.  Believe me, you don’t want me to get started.

NOW…here is the shocking part of it all.  I closed my eyes and ordered a Hoagie Supreme. Before I began eating, I prayed over my meal.  I did it because I believed I would be lucky not to end up with food poisoning when all was said and done.  I won’t identify the establishment.

I don’t know why…I just won’t. 

Go ahead!  Ask me how the food was.  I dare you!

With the first bite I was transported in my mind back to the days shortly after Maureen and I began our life together.  We loved Pasquales’ Hoagies.  There was a little one on Monmouth Street in Newport, Kentucky that made a sandwich to die for.  We have often sat around talking about those times and how much we wished they were still around.  As of this time I am of the opinion that our wishes have come true. 

Before we left the place I stopped by the front counter and offered up my praise to the food, how it has taken me back all those years to our early Happy Days.  Need I tell you that everyone within earshot seemed a little shocked by my words?  I was being honest.  In fact, I made sure to ask if they deliver to our area.  If it was that good sitting in the midst of all that I witnessed, how much better would it taste at home? 

When we returned home at two-fifty, I opened the heavy carton the new cart came in and set about assembling it.  I needed Gail’s help before I got it finished.  Maureen was up stairs preparing the extra bedroom (now officially our storage room) to accept everything we end up moving out of our little family room in order to make all the changes we have planned.

How’s that for a way to spend your anniversary?  Maureen and I liked it.  That’s all that matters.

Vulture

I was wondering…is there anyone else out there that has some “cute” little behavior belonging to them and their better half, one that only some very close relatives know about and possibly witnessed being played out?

MLB and I have one that’s been with us for almost 38 years.

Once in a while, one of us will go to the kitchen and make a sandwich, bring it back and place it on the small table that sits between our individual chairs in the TV room.  Suddenly, we think of something we forgot to go with said sandwich and hurry down to the kitchen again to get it. When we return with it, sit down and reach for our delicious looking sandwich, we notice that someone has taken a very large bite out of it.

We usually ask “What happened to my sandwich?”

The other one, who may be still chewing on the stolen bite and speaking with food in their mouth, will explain…”As soon as you left the room this huge Vulture swooped in through the window, took a big bite and flew right back out again.”  That always gets a big smile from both of us.

It had been a while since either of us had any opportunity to steal something from the other like that.  Then, Easter came around.  You know, stores usually have plenty of Easter candy left over that they need to get rid of before it gets stale.  This Easter was no different and considering the fact that Maureen is now working for a chain type grocery, she had opportunity to take advantage of their after Easter sale.  She came home with two boxes of Papa’s chocolate covered marshmallow eggs, one each of light and dark chocolate coatings.

Me having diabetes, I’m not supposed to eat such things…BUT, being human, a very weak human that loves that kind of candy, when Maureen came up here with two of those eggs last evening and laid them on the table and went into our bedroom for something, I remembered out cute little behavior.  I said loud enough for her to hear…”I hate to tell you this but a huge Vulture just flew in the window and I think he has his eye on your candy.” 

She shouted back…”Well that Big Vulture will leave my candy alone if he knows what’s good for him.”

“OK! I’ll try to hold him off but he’s bigger than usual and seems determine to have a piece of your candy.  You had better hurry!  I can’t hold him off much longer.  (There is a loud scream)  best as I could conjure up with one of those eggs in my mouth…Then I yell…”He’s pecking me in the eyes and scratching my cheeks with his huge, filthy talons that I just know he had been holding down a piece of carcass with only a short time ago.  I simply can’t hold him off.  I’m bleeding profusely.”  With that…I got quiet as possible.

Maureen didn’t even come in to see what had happened.  She turned to the right as she came out of the bedroom, returned to where she had stashed those eggs and got herself two more before coming back into this room.

My head hung in shame but I was smiling all the while and I believe there was some thin, chocolate spittle oozing out of the corners of my mouth when I did look up and smile.

I was glad to see that she was smiling too.

How about you…………

Are you smiling? 

I’ll bet you are.

There are some that believe it “morbid” to call a day when someone died an unusually cruel kind of death “GOOD Friday.”  I’ve thought it myself many times but that was before I came to understand and appreciate what the world has gained by such a death.

We call it GOOD but it was, without a doubt, the best thing that could have happened for you and me.  It was GOODER or better than GOOD.

For over two thousand years now, mankind has been blessed with the opportunity to have life’s slate wiped clean so that one might be able to start all over again.  It was the greatest “Do-over” ever granted to anyone.

Twenty-four years ago, when I was forty-three, another man was crucified and then born-again, a new creature because of what Jesus Christ made possible on that first GOOD Friday. That man was me.

I’ll always be thankful.