Comment Moderation

Contrary to what I said in a couple of new blogging groups, I have now enabled comment moderation on this blog. This will enable me to get a glimpse of what is going onto the blog before it gets there and someone else sees it first. Sorry, I just think I need that extra little bit of control.

Plus the fact that Hootie couldn't talk me out of it. But then what can you expect out a one-eyed owl that has double-vision and is hard of hearing to boot.

WHY GROUSE ABOUT IT

Now what in the name of six thousand sand fleas have you got there, Hootie?

A bird? Well, #^**%$%, what kind of bird? I can see it's a bird, birdbrain?

A turkey? Why that don't even look like a turkey. You look more like a turkey than that so-called turkey.

Bring it over here and let me see.

Hootie, #^*&%, hold on to that ##&*^% thing!

Well, I'll be, Hootie, you caught a grouse, and a female one at that. See that little ruff there, aint near as pronounced as a male's would be.

What's that? What are they good for?

Why man that is some of the best eating in the world. Well, for men anyway. Owls usually don't care much for them.

Why don't you just give it to me and I'll take good care of it.

Oh, Hootie, you know I wouldn't do that. Do you honestly think I have designs on eating that little bird. Shame Hootie for even thinking such a thing. After all this time with me, you still don't really trust me, do you Hootie?

Be careful, Hootie, she might get away. Don't let her flutter around like that. Grab her. Oh, ^%$#, now you gone and done it, you dumb owl, she's flying all over the place. Catch her, Hootie.

Keep her down low, Hootie. We can both try to grab her then. Just keep her down low, for God's sake, Hootie. Oh, *&$(), now it's over. You let her backwing into that fan on purpose, you &^$#(*.

Is she hurt? Why would she be hurt. Did you ever back into a fan? Look at her--just look at her--








DISASTER--just DISASTER.

RULES TO LIVE BY

A blog posting by the editor of the local paper got me to thinking (boy,that is new, aint it?) about his topic, which was , of course, rules to live by. He gave a sampling of his and asked for responses including some others held. And you know me, Hootie, I just couldn't resist.

Sure, I know the rule you live by, you two winged assassin, but, I'm the boss is really not a rule, Hootie. It is more or less a hope. And for you it is zilch, zero, nada. Got it? Now get back outside and catch those darned mice or you get no supper. Oh, wait, that is your supper. Do meeces taste good, Hootie, old buddy? Not that I really care.


Rule # 1. When you have made your point, shut up.

WATER ON THE BRAIN

Well now, aint that a hoot. I just saw a report on CNN about the massive flooding in northern Ohio. And there they were, the ducks who think they can drive their vehicles through one, two, three, four, up to seven or eight feet of water. Old Hootie says they're nuts. And I have to agree.

Man, if the water is over your shoetops, don't do it. It aint worth the risk. Unless your vehicle has an outboard motor or sails, don't do it. Don't be the next one who has to be pulled out, dead or alive, from a overflowing river or street or road or anywhere. Hey, your stupidity is showing.

It is bad enough when the water rises and gets your vehicle. How much worse when you act stupid and do it yourself. Got a death wish? Must have to do something that stupid.

How many times must a person see other people do the same thing and drown, or suffer terrible buffeting by the water, or be the object of a massive search and rescue or worse yet, recovery operation, before it begins to sink in?

And today I heard there was an electrocution when a live power line fell into the high water and killed someone who was standing nearby. Boy, howdy. People are dumb.

And people are dead. All because they refuse to accept the fact that they are not immortal. They may think, it won't happen to me. But it does. With regularity.

Would these so-called intelligent people pull their car across three lanes of oncoming high speed traffic, just knowing 'it won't happen to me?' Well---probably.

Maybe I shouldn't go on so. After all, it does cull the herd.

WHAT, ME WORRY? with apologies to A.E. Neumann

The longer I live, the more liberal/conservative I become.

I am generally acknowledged to be a conservative. My kids think I'm hidebound. My fellow posters on the local newspaper's forum think I'm almost an ultra. But appearances can be deceiving. A week or so ago one of the posters accused me of being a "flaming liberal."

Boy, howdy!

I can't even recall what the topic was. Or whether I was trying to be sarcastic (normally that is sour-castic) or just playing devil's advocate. But there it was , in print, Tanstaafl is a flaming liberal.

Maybe it was one of those where I castigated both the Republicans and Democrats for being do-nothings and do-the -wrong-thing-before-the-other-side-does. As I say, I can't really remember what the topic was, but I'm going to hold on to that title. Me. Dagnabbit, me. A flaming liberal. Who'dathunk it?

Conservative? Yes. Fiscally, morally, spiritually, politically. But with a total awe of the Constitution of these United States. And the effect it has had upon mankind, and particularly those within the United States.

The Constitution, as originally written, formed the framework of government for these United States some two hundred eighteen years ago. And, although amended every so often, that original framework still stands today as the bulwark of the Republic, to the utter confusion and consternation of the peoples of the world. The Amendments to the Constitution have only modified the Constitution to guarantee specific rights that every American citizen, rich or poor, black or white, male or female, religious or irreligious has. And to make minor technical changes to the framework.

But those minor technical changes make a huge difference to the workings of our country. How about the one which authorizes the personal income tax? Or the one that says a president may only serve two consecutive full terms? Those two little technical changes wrought tremendous change upon the country, changes that affected every one of us.

The freedoms we enjoy are the envy of the world. They have enabled us to gain the highest standard of living ever known by man for such a large percentage of the country's people. That, coupled with the level of living yields the greatest number of truly wealthy people in the world. Surely there are exceptions and we all know there are those living in abject poverty in our country. But abject poverty in our country would be considered wealth in some countries of this old world.

We scream and bitch and holler at each other to do this, don't do that and on and on. But we usually do not settle our disputes with games of uzi or hand grenades. Sometimes we do, but not often. And when was the last time you heard of an election being settled at the point of a gun in this country? Wasn't very recent was it?

Because we have a Constitution that guarantees us these freedoms, and, we all, regardless of our situation, will grant to the other fellow his right to be heard, whether we like his message or not. By the same token, we expect him to allow us to be heard. And when he or we do not do so, then we have a problem that someone else may have to solve. For our rights are guaranteed by that document those old men came up with way back in 1789.

And, old as I am, children, even I was not alive when it was signed. But I love it and will defend it for all my life, and with my life if necessary. And it makes absolutely no difference if I am a conservative, liberal, libertarian or whatever shade in between. For first and foremost, I am an American. And those foreign goobers can only envy me that status.

TICK TOCK TICKS TOCKS, SLAM BANG, GRAB YOUR SOCKS

OK. I'm ticked off again.

Folks.

There aint no such thing as a 'free gift.'

Unless you want to wallow in redundancy, again.

By definition, a gift is free.

Saying 'free gift' is akin to saying 'wet shower' or 'little shrimp.'

It's redundant, again.

All over television and radio broadcasts, magazines, newspapers, you name it, I see or hear 'free gift.' Call this number for your 'free gift.' Write to this address for your 'free gift.' Go to this website for your 'free gift.'

Children, I must tell you there aint no such thing as a 'free gift' and there aint no such thing as a free lunch. Robert Heinlein told us that years ago, and it aint changed a whit.


HOOT HOOT HOOT

APPALACHIAN ICE, or, THANK YOU, ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL

Hello?

Oh, hi, Mom. How's the weather there in Jacksonville?

Hot already this morning, huh? Must be nice.

How are things back here in the hills? Oh, just about normal, I guess.

Yeah, I know I sound a little down today.

Well, early this morning the ice began to fall and then that was followed by the snow. Everything is covered up now and the temperature has fallen to about 20 and is still going down.

Oh, yeah, the trees are bowed low to the ground and groaning. The willow is on the ground and the pines are crying with all the load they've got on them. The ditches are solid now, and the creek is a sheet of ice.

What's that? Is it going to be this way for a while? Well, the forecast doesn't give much hope. Three more days of sub-zero will have the whole world in a deep-freeze. No sun until after the thaw begins, whenever that is.

No, the battery is too low, or probably dead by now. That's okay since we can't drive in ice that deep anyhow. We've got coal piled up on the porch and in buckets beside the house, and a pile of wood that's covered up with snow by the back door.

Sure. Kids were sent home early yesterday and its called off for the rest of the week. May as well be, no one could get there anyway. And the waterline from that drilled well froze underneath the house this morning. Thank God we didn't fill in that old dug well out back. At least we can get enough water for coffee for breakfast. As long as the coffee lasts, anyway. Guess when it runs out I'll just reuse the grounds the way we did when we was poor. It's too far to walk over on the next branch to the store. They might not be open anyhow.

Yeah, Mom, it's a real pain. And with no water, we can't use the bathroom, and that really is a big pain. The privy is going to get a workout again. I'm glad I had Jim replace those rotten board, now.

Yeah, those old hens give their eggs no matter what the weather is like. I have to give them extra food too. Every time I throw the feed down, it seems like the snow covers it up before they get to it.

I know, we have to get the eggs within an hour or two after they're laid so they won't freeze on us.

Mom, I got to go. The kids are making a big racket in the front room. Give me a call tomorrow or Thursday, OK?

Yeah, I love you ,too, Mom. Bye.

WHATS THE MATTER, CAN'T YOU TAKE IT

That danged old Hootie, he's been scanning my files again. And now he's been messing around in some of my story files. He picked this one for me to put on the blog. I never thought it was so good but he insists. He said something about dogfighting being in the news and wanted to have this one on record. And when Hootie gets that old whipped hound dog look in his eyes, well, I just can't say no, now can I? Anyway, here goes---



There were a couple of kids who lived about a half-mile on up the hollow from us. We could see their house from ours as it sat on a piece of land that had large crop fields all around it. Some years the fields were planted in corn, other years soybeans and in some years left idle for hay. The house was one of the newest in the hollow, but it was still not anything special or out of the ordinary. Our house had been built in the 1880s according to local history, their's probably in the mid-1940s (replacing one that had burned down, I believe, for there is history of a house being located there before 1900 and this could not be the same one, and housefires were fairly common back then.) But it did have regular siding on it and had a tin roof. Access to the house from the road was either by a footlog (no, I'm not going to tell you what a footlog was. Either you know or you don't. If you do, good for you. If you don't, ask someone else, it would take me three pages to explain all the types there were, and are.), or, around the curve in the road, turn left across a patch of ground, drive through the creek and up into the field where the house was located and on into the yard.

Both these kids (see, you thought I forgot about them, didn't you?) like to put on 'airs' that they had more, were better than, and so on. Uppity is what we called it. And really they had no reason to do so, their stepfather was a poor working stiff just like all the others in the hollow and lived paycheck to paycheck. He was a good man, easy to get along with and a pretty fair country talker (you have to have lived back then to know what that means.) The mother, however, was another case--a shrew if there ever was one. Kept her man beaten down all the time. You could tell the kids were hers, not his.

And these two kids were especially proud of their dog. This dog was a heavy, squat thing that was so ugly it was almost good-looking. And, admittedly, the dog had a pretty good record record of defending itself in fights with other dogs in the community. But it never came out of their yard. Every fight it had had was on its own turf and against foolish dogs that didn't look at the opposition before picking a fight.


Now, prior to this time, there had been some problems between these kids and one of my older brothers. The boy was a talker but not someone who would take physical action against anyone (what a nice way of saying he talked a good fight, but the stripe down his back was the purest shade of yellow.) The girl had tried out for cheerleader at the local high school, and had talked big that she would be the best cheerleader--no, that she WAS the best cheerleader that school had ever had. Too bad, she spoke a little early, she didn't make the cut.

And my brother, well, he lost no time in letting her know daily what had happened. He ragged and he ragged. Both she and her brother looked daggers at him and engaged in verbal warfare with my brother all winter and into the spring. Not only over this, but about other supposed faults they saw in each other. One afternoon in mid-spring, coming home from school, you could hear them, from all the way down at the bottom of the hill, arguing. My brother was taunting her with the then, in vogue, saying, "What's the matter, can't you take it? Can't you Alabammy shake it?" She was hollering and her bother was too, all the way up the hill to our house, and beyond until they were out of hearing distance.

The next day was Saturday, and on her way back from the grocery store, her mother climbed the hill to our house and knocked on the door. Mom answered the door and their mother began her litany of complaints, including the previous day's teasing. After listening patiently to her complaints for about ten minutes, our mother indicated it would be best for her to get off the porch, out of the yard and back into the road, or else risk life and limb , that she was in a most precarious position right then. Further complaints would not be wise, and she'd better get a move on before Mom did. Not in just those words, but she got her point across. The kids mother lost no time in doing just as Mom suggested.

Summer came and those two kids are walking down the road approaching our house on their way to the store,,or to visit relative out on the hard road, or who knows why they were going, they just were. And their dog, contrary to normal, has followed them and is in the field across the road from out house. And that was a dangerous place to be, for old Spot thought that was his yard, and he was defensive of his yard, to say the least. He was part blue tick, part hound, and, overall, was hell on wheels in a fight.In actual fact, there was not a dog in the hollow he had not fought and whipped--except theirs--it wouldn't come out of the yard and Spot was smart enough to not go into its own yard, just to prove a point. The other dogs in the hollow, the ones Spot had previously whipped, ran and hid when they saw him coming (they couldn't outrun him, either. Some had tried and had wounds for their silliness.)

Spot saw the dog and came off the porch running. The girl screamed and the boy ran after their dog, but it was too late. Spot was already there. He had intercepted their dog about 150 feet from our house in the field, near a run-down old fenceline. There was not so much of a fight as there could have been.Spot managed to catch their dog and stop him from running, then proceeded to pick him up and toss him around,catching him again and repeating the action. By this time we were all gathered around--at a safe distance.

Then suddenly, our dog was no longer just fighting, he was in it for the kill. He grabbed the other dog by the throat and refused to let go, even while being slapped by my older brother. Seeing that their dog would be killed in a minute or two, my older brother picked a fence post
out of the fenceline and began beating Spot over the head and shoulders, trying to get him to stop.

Finally the message got through to Spot to stop. He released their dog which immediately cut a course straight up the bottom toward his home. He made a good sized splash as he split the creek and was safely into the cornfield on the other side of the creek. Words were exchanged in the field between my brother and those two but as far as I know they never spoke another word after that to each other.

From that point on, none of that family would ever look our way when they walked past our house. Even meeting face-to-face in the roadway, they would separate if necessary when they approached us coming from the other direction in order to avoid eye or physical contact.

Their dog, never recovering from the fight, never left their yard again. The oddest thing--I was friends with their younger half-brother, he was a nice kid, but the family moved away a year or so later, to Ohio, I think. We never saw or heard from or of them again until a few years ago when I saw in the paper where the mother had died.


OK, Hootie, are you happy now? Oh, it didn't end the way you wanted it to? Well, that's the breaks, boy, that's the breaks.

HOOT HOOT HOOT

HONEST ABE

I saw a politician on the tube the other day. Now that is not unusual. And this politician said, I'm paraphrasing, that he would do this, that and the other thing, among which was, "I will create new jobs..."

Now, you know he lied, don't you? Have you ever known a politician who was capable of creating a job? It, my friends, is an impossibility. A politician works for the government, in some capacity or another, and government cannot create jobs. It can only tax those who are creating and or working at jobs.

And a politician's only quest, once elected, is to be reelected. Don't let them give you a different answer to the question, "What are your plans now that you are in office?" The only answer is, "To get reelected." Fior that is what a politician is for. He has only two overriding designs in life--first, to get elected, and, second, to get reelected. If you have ever run into one who was ever elected against his will, let me know. I don't think I'll hear from you real soon. And, once elected, if he doesn't want or try to get reelected, he was not a politician in the first place.

And how can a politician create a job? The government has no jobs, just "public servants", if you listen to them when they want something more on their paychecks.
Besides, a single politician, by himself, can do nothing. Everything in government is done by committee. That's why the results (non-results) are so poor. It is kind of like tying five mules together by their backsides and then throwing five ears of corn in five directions. Whatever they do, it is a self-defeating process.

Honest politician>? Oxymoron.
Hard working politician? Oxymoron.

If they're honest, they're not politicians, and if they are hard working, they are just trying to find funding for their next campaign for reelection.

Politicians are similar to preachers, lawyers, used car salesmen and news purveyors. All will tell any story necessary to get their advantage. A preacher will go back and forth so many times in one conversation that he needs a tight saddle on top of the fence so he can swing either way, depending on what the listener has to say. And there are few respectable lawyers around anymore, if there ever were. Used car salesmen will tell you whatever you tell them you want. They take your own words, translate them to fit the situation, and sell you the same car as barely used that they told you ten minutes before was a wreck (when they wanted to upgrade the sale.)

And news purveyors. Yeah, reporters, anchors, editors--the whole lot, including managers and executives. When was the last time you heard, or read, a news report that did not have a personal slant to it? Probably longer than you imagine. It has gotten so bad that I seldom read the "news" sections anymore, or watch the nightly news. I go straight for the op-ed pages or to the talking heads, for I know to be on guard to what is said then.

There was a report a year or so ago that illustrates well. Small matter, a recently constructed bridge was being dedicated. Now, why it needed to be dedicated, I'll never know. But it was. Both the newspaper coverage and the television coverage proclaimed the heroic legend of the person for whom the bridge was being named. Both interviewed a number of local residents, none of whom knew the honoree, they were just glad to have the bridge back after waiting three years for it to be rebuilt (and that is a story unto itself.) And when we come to learn the actual
facts of the case, the honoree was a local man who had been drafted into the service in WWII and died in France, just as thousands of others did (many from the local area who died in France, Germany, the Pacific theater, Italy and elsewhere.) There were no heroic deeds, other than those made up by the media to justify their expense in covering a laudatory and local affair for a particular family.


But, perhaps the worst of all, all four classifications listed above, are self-serving professions (if you care to call them professions), in which the service to fellow human beings has been perverted to the cruelest disservices. The taking of needed sustenance and ego of those who, let's face it, deserve no more than a quick kick into perdition for their callous disregard of the basic tenets of humanity.


But the politician tops them all, for he simply disregards any semblance of truth. He says he will do this. And he won't. He'll do that. And he won't. You can never tell what he will do, or won't do. For he is a consummate liar, cheat, and you can pick the next disreputable adjective, that you want to ever see going away from you.

As far as creating anything, the only thing he can possibly create is a poor reputation. AND HE ALREADY HAS THAT, so why would he need to sweat it out trying to create something he already has?

John, Passing

My oldest nephew passed away about a month ago. Both my children took the loss pretty hard. Both are younger than he was and both are overweight as he was. Both have expressed their thoughts, either aloud or tacitly, that they felt the first faint twinges of their own mortality as a result of his passing. And that got me to thinking that I had written a blurb a few months previously about that subject, or, at least referenced it in my blurb. So here, unedited, is what I wrote back on 30 April 2007, about another person who had passed away. It is titled, simply, "JOHN."

A while back, my daughter left a message on my answering machine that bemoaned the fact that one of her classmates from high school had passed away. And while not the first one who had done so, this one apparently hit her fairly hard. Probably this one, coming as it does shortly before her fortieth birthday, has made her feel the first twinge of her own mortality, and is quite uncomfortable. I can sympathize with her, because in the adjoining column of the obituaries, one of my classmates has also passed away. So where does that leave me?


I felt that first twinge many years ago, when I became one of the 'old ones' in the family, as both my parents had passed away, the last one when I was only forty-one. It is not the most comforting feeling to know that you are now considered old by others' standards when you still feel the surges of youth and know that, barring unforeseen accidents, you still have a lot of years to go before that twinge becomes a chill reality.

I was always a loner. Mostly out of shyness, I think, but for whatever reason, I have never had too many close friends. Lots of acquaintances and lots of people I knew a little about, and some I wish I had gotten to know better, and some I have occasionally wished I could forget. But shyness in my youth kept me from getting too close to anyone because I could never get up the nerve to speak up and let them know my true feelings. Later in life, after I had pretty well conquered the shyness, I found there were some I wished to know more about but the moments were past and opportunities did not present themselves again.

The fellow I referred to above was a year behind me in school. He was the son of my high school principal, and was a mirror image of his father. His personality somewhat mirrored his father also, rotund, intelligent and jovial, always with a smile for the other fellow, always made you feel at ease around him. He was active in clubs and other activities both in and out of school. I had a few classes with him in high school. He had a twin brother who was very unlike him, also very intelligent, somewhat thin, and more intent on succeeding than my friend was, yet still a very likable sort.

John and I had a lot of mutual acquaintances and it was always interesting to hear his take on some of them. Sometimes his views were similar to mine, but at other times, the difference was startling. Some kids I considered first class goofballs he felt were simply using that craziness as a crutch to hide their fears. But generally we agreed on who the good and bad were and who would succeed and who would struggle all their lives with their own personal beasts.

He and I had similar outlooks on most affairs of the day, we had similar opinions on which teachers were worthwhile and which to avoid, we shared a common interest in mathematics and science (him probably as a result of his parentage, me because I admired his father so much-- his father had spoken with me at length, on the occasion of a field trip to the local college science museum, of the benefits and pitfalls of math and science.) I noted in his obituary that he and I also shared the common occupation in life, we were both accountants.


After leaving high school, I went to work the following day at a camp where I was either on duty or on-call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week from the time school was out in the summer to the start of school in fall. I was the maintenance person and began the job at the rate of $25 per week. Before the summer was over, I had decided to attend college and the director raised my pay to $40 per week, retroactive to the start of the season.
I stayed in that job for four years and, other than for meals, paid my complete way through college by supplementing this summer job with various ones during the winters, no grants and no loans.

Upon graduation from college, I took a job out of the area and, other than weekends and vacations, did not live in this area for almost twenty years. I was back for about two years and then was away for another six or seven years. I became a permanent resident of the tri-state area in late 1988. During all the time I was gone, I had no contact with John. I knew his dad had died and his brother had moved to Virginia, but I knew nothing else. (I only knew this because a fellow I worked with had contact with the family.)

One day I opened the newspaper to the Op-Ed section and, lo and behold, there is a letter to the editor from John. Now he and I never agreed too much on the historical side of things. Our political leanings were always verboten, but we had discussed the history of the United States a little. He was a rebel and I was a damnyankee as far as the Civil War was concerned. I was concerned with unity and he with states rights. And there he was, writing about the "War of Northern Aggression." And he was some bigwig in the Sons of the Confederacy. Well, Johnny, I hardly knew you!

He wrote lucidly and passionately about his topic. I was really impressed. I didn't agree, of course, but I was impressed. Impressed that he would take such a stand publicly and defend his beliefs so well. And I noted with regularity, that he continued to hold his belief and express it willingly and often until the final days of his life.

John is one of those I wish I had kept contact with. He was the type of individual that makes America strong and viable as a nation. This country will be worse for his passing. And, while I mourn his passing, I know the world is better off for having John around for his three-score an ten (less six.)

Go Get a Goo- Goo, Its Good!

Hootie said we better get back at it.


Just for everyone's information, the problem (potential problem) with the power company and their contractor was settled amicably. I called AEP again Friday morning and told them the same old sad story, and, happened to mention that since they didn't seem to want to be helpful, I thought I'd call the PSC and see what they had to say. So I did. And got hold of this lady named Marietta who was an absolute angel. Almost my age and fed up with people shirking on their jobs apparently. So she files a report with AEP and voila, problem solved. On Monday, 06 August, Asplundh came in the hollow and was doing something for about three hours, when about 2:30 pm, a small white pickup came in the hollow and a guy got out and walked up to the chipper truck fellow. He was excited and had a sheaf of three or four papers in his hot little hand. He pointed to my house and then to the chipper truck and then to the massed pile of debris across the road from my house. He then slammed one hand into the other that had the papers, and shoved them to the chipper truck guy. He walked down the road to my gate, accosted two chipper truck workers, seemed to verbally abuse them and pointed to all the debris. Then he walked to his truck and left.

The chipper truck was brought down the road and the debris across the road was cleaned up, using a rake, even. They also cleaned up materials that they had not placed there, which was good, I guess. So, half the battle won. I had decided not to press the matter of the rounds again, just sue the pants off them if the rounds did cause a problem later.

But, lo and behold,
on Wednesday, 08 August, two men appeared at my door and said they needed my permission to get the rounds out of the creek. I said it wasn't on my land, but they said, no, they needed my permission to cross the bridge to take their truck with the crane to move the rounds out of the creek. I said sure, why not. I didn't put the bridge in and wouldn't repair it if it fell through but I'd sign permission as long as there was no liability on my part. They left and I drank a cup of joe while watching them move a chipper truck onto the bridge. Only the front wheels went up onto the bridge, then they put cones behind it and sat there for a little over a half hour.

At about 8:57 am, they backed the chipper truck out of the hollow. It was followed by truck with a crane mounted on it, also backing out of the hollow. Both trucks headed south on Rt. 10 at 9:00 am. I have not gone up the hollow to see if they actually took the rounds out of the creek or not.

Marietta called back the next day about 2 pm and asked if the problem had been resolved. I said that maybe it had, I had been told by Asplundh that they were taking care of it the previous day. She said she had a piece of paper that said they had done so. She asked if I had walked up the hollow to see, and I said no, that it had been too hot and was still too hot for such a walk...

I still have not been up there and do not really intend to. As I said, if the rounds are not out of the creek and later cause a problem I'll sue the pants off both AEP and Asplundh.


So that's it for today, Hootie. Now go find someone who wants the rest of these tomatoes and these peppers. I can't eat 'em all and you are no help at all. Why don't you go off and find me a song or two, like you used to do before you got so danged uppity. Off with you. Hear me, dagnabbit! At least bring me poke to put 'em in, boy!

Barney Google with his Goo Goo Googely Eyes

Well, I just posted a comment to my daughter's blog and told her to note what appears on the blog as the name of the commenter (before she erases it hopefully.) The note at the bottom of the blog said I was posting as tanstaafl. We'll see what we see I reckon.

By the by, we had a power outage this morning. I woke up at five and looked at the clock and the clock was like everything else--dark, except for moonlight. So I get up and call AEP. They of course ran me thru the automated system. Thats ok. About 5:25 am, here comes one power company truck and two Asplundh trucks. so I knew they already had had a call. Mary got up about 5:10 and began to get ready for work, and by 6 am I had walked up the hollow. An oak tree, about four feet in diameter had fallen just at the turn into Simpkins' yard (actually about 10 yards or so before it) and had fallen across the road, creek and into the wires and onto his field.


We got power back about 11:30 am. They left a lot of big rounds in the creek (at least they were there about 10:30 am anyway and the guy from Asplundh didn't seem too much inclined to say they would pull them out. I called AEP at about noon and told them about the situation. Don't know the resolution to it yet but plan another walk up the hollow before dark to inspect.


Hey hey suppertime. Fresh corn and tomatoes from the garden. And I don't have thousands, just 1, 999 probably, Kelsie. Or do you prefer Rancid?

Google Me This

So I finally get this thing working, but there's a problem. When I respond to someone else's blog, it leaves a name other than tanstaafl. Now how is that since I instructed it to use my screen name of tanstaafl? Ticks me off no end. So maybe I'll not respond to blogs from now on. That is the only cure I can come up with. I'll just go about publishing my own and not respond to others. But that is not a good deal, because it is no fun if I can't push, pull, badger and bully other people from behind a mask of anonymity. Cuss it all, I wish these bastard byproducts of the machine age worked the way they are supposed to, never mind what they are advertised to do. If I could pull blogger off this machine and take it out in the front yard I'd give it a good swift kick in the......., oh, no, that would hurt my footsies and they are precious to me. They take me all over the place so I could never damage my footsies (I almost typed tootsies, but there is no roll to my feetsies.)[Read it the way it is, not what it sounds like!] Enough, I've had enough. Ten hours at this machine is too much.

I did pick over three dozen ears of corn today. Heh heh, got it before the 'coons did. And I mean the rackety type of coons. Corn was rather small, but it is supposed to be only about six inches long anyway, and that's a good average of what I picked today. Got it cleaned and in the icebox waiting to be vacuum sealed and frozen.

I noticed that I have a small saucer squash setting on the vine finally. I've pick a number of yellow summer squash so far but this is the first white one that I've seen so far.

Old Hootie about went crazy today when he saw all the cherry tomatoes he was going to have to pick. I found him over four dozen ripe ones, and what looked to be thousands more that were in various stages from wee tiny things to those almost ripe. He was goggle-eyed with the number of regular tomatoes too. Doesn't take much to amaze old Hootie these days.


As Willie was wont to say, "Gotta go now..."

He's Baaaaaccccckkkk!

Well, that was a real education. I have tried a number of times to get my account changed and today I think I succeeded. So, look out, I got a lot to say and don't mince too many words in doing it. No pc around here, it comes out just as I feel. My daughter reminded me that there are only fifteen months left until the next general election, and I can't afford to miss that. More to come when I get the time. Hootie is back, Hootie is back, Hootie is back. Oh, joy!