This story is not nearly as interesting as I had hoped it would be. I had envisioned a big old car carrier pulling up in front of my house and dropping off something nice, allowing for lots of photo opportunities. Turns out that my road is not at all suitable for an 80-foot truck, and the delivery took place in the middle of the night, in the rain, several miles from here. I did not even go to see it all happen. I am such a humbug sometimes. I will still tell ya what happened under the condition that you DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!

It all started a couple of months back when my kid found a cute little sports car he wanted to buy. It was listed on E-Bay. I did my best to convince him that buying the car was little wiser than stuffing his life savings into a box and mailing it to a random address on the other side of the country. He was not discouraged and very soon had wired his fortune off to somewhere in California.

Next came the process of arranging the shipping. While it may have been easier and less time consuming to simply drive out there and get the thing, the kid instead interviewed numerous shipping companies. Our phone rang off the hook for about two weeks. The person on the other end always had a very interesting accent and talked way too fast. Finally a decision was made and the calls tapered off gradually.

Some days after that the car title came in the mail. This was rather encouraging.

A couple of weeks passed, and finally we get call from the truck driver. He told us not only was there really a car, but that he had picked it up and that it looked and handled great. The next day a lady called and said the truck, with the car on it, had been put into the shop. The repair would be delayed because of the Thanksgiving holiday, but they expected to have it on the road on Monday. After that it took about a week and a half to cross the country.

The happy day finally came and the car arrived. It seemed to be in pretty good shape. It was actually a salvage vehicle and had to be inspected by the state inspector. He came by after about another week and a few wax jobs. The car passed the test. After that the kid was able to get a license plate and insurance and actually drive the thing.

Here are some photos of the happy ending.

We all have events we attend to connect with the people we know and meet new folks with similar interests. Maybe you do the girls night out, the boy's night out, or the barbecue on the patio.

I do the annual farm tour.

I know, no geeky creds here, but I can flat out show you which squash blossoms you can stuff without reducing the crop, tell you when yer lettuce is pretty well past it, and tell you which weeds are good for foraging.

I volunteered this year at Charles Church's place. It is close to the house and totally awesome.

You need to think about where your food comes from. It is important.

The point of this post is mostly to assure my lonely reader that I am in fact alive, and doing well. I have been busy taking care of the things I am supposed to do.

The fact that I get paid to do these things is not the focus. If money were the object I could do much better. I am hoping that will change. But money is not the important thing. I wish it were not an issue at all.

Back when I was much younger, I played the saxophone in the band. I was never the great musical talent, but I held my own. I really enjoyed jammin' in the rehearsals. Live performances brought a rush you have to experience to understand.

I almost feel as if I am approaching a live performance now.

Sometimes I wish I were a poet. Not just any kind of poet. I don't want to paint pretty pictures that remind you of a summer sunrise. I want to make a statement, but I want to couch it in a nice story. I want to write this story in such a way that most folks would say "oh, I get it", but the person that the story is about would cringe and just somehow know that they were the person the story is intended for.

Sorry to say, I am not that kind of a wordsmith. My writing is, at best, straightforward. There is nothing between the lines.

I am prepared to accept that nobody at all reads this blog. I have been tempted to utilize the therapeutic benefit of getting it all on paper. It would feel so good to tell what I know.

Basically, don't push me. I just may out you.

I know I don't act like somebody that plays it safe. I act the fool with shenanigans. I understand the rules and know how to appear wise. I can give you a look that will melt your socks.

But in reality I am actually quite sensitive.

No, quit laughing. It is true.

Funny thing is, the old man hates conflict too. I am hurt to the point of dying, he thinks I am mad, and he hides too.

Not much conflict resolution going on here folks.
We work it out sometime.

Honor your father and mother, and your days will be long upon the earth.

That is the only commandant with a promise. Personally I have accomplished everything in life that I ever hoped, so any day is fine. I ain't really here to diss anybody, though, just maybe give my buds some insight into what made me the eccentric old fool they have grown to know and tolerate.

I have been called upon to give my earliest childhood memory in an Internet love/sharing/kinda fun game. Bad thing is, the very first thing I remember is my dad getting pissed about some thing or other and tearing apart a perfectly innocent rocking chair with his bare hands and feeding it into the wood furnace. The whole ordeal kinda freaked me out because I knew that his mama always sat in that chair when she came over to visit. I don't know where she she sat after that night.

Maybe I can fake something about my tricycle and the sidewalk and make it sound happy. People love that sort of thing.