Winter's Back - For a Moment Anyway

For a few moments anyway, our climate here on Sam Page Road is in a seasonally normal status. The second snow storm of the 2023/24 season may not be a blizzard, but it's trying hard to be one. The general consensus among the deadbeat meteorologists settled on 6 to 12 inches for our neck of the woods. 

This storm gets us into double digits for snow this season. At the moment we are at around 14 inches for the total. Usually we are at least in the 50 inch or higher range by this point.

It began snowing last night around 11:30PM. By 7:00 AM there was over 6 inches out there and the plows are working hard to stay ahead of the snow that is still falling. Temps are around 20' F, so it doesn't look like we will have to deal with wet snow this storm.

I have been without my snow blower for 3 years. We used commercial plow folk to clean up our drive during that time. I used to plow my drive back 25 years ago. But the driveway is not plow friendly. It curves and drops with banks on both sides. I cannot say how many plows have gotten stuck in my drive. But I know I got myself stuck many times, never mind the pay to plow guys. My drive likes a snow blower, either on a tractor or a walk behind. Does a better job.

Back in October, I took my snow blower attachment to a fellow over to Sanford or was it Alfred? One side of the town line or the other anyway. I knew I had picked the right guy. His dooryard was full of power equipment in various stages of disrepair. Tractors, lawn mowers, snow blowers, and several rusty equipment trailers took up space next to his repair barn. He told me to drop it anywhere and he'd call when it was fixed.

There were multiple issues with the 30 year old snow blower. Cracks that need welding. Bearings that need changing. Impeller shaft needed to be re-welded to the auger differential. It needed a new edge and the drive chain coming off the PTO needed replacing. 

I was pleasantly surprised when he was done, the bill was only $390. At the local John Deere store, I bet it would have been at least double that, maybe even triple. And now that I have finally had a real snow to test it with, it has not worked this well since I have owned it. Throws snow many, many feet and doesn't shake the tractor like its going to self destruct at any moment. 

Nothing runs like a Deere when its maintained.

Yeah, it felt good to take on a snowstorm again. I wonder how many more I will have before we start seeing people planting palm trees.

Later ...........................

___________________

A snowed out Sunday with a football game to watch around 1:00 PM is an invitation to imbibe in mood altering substances. I sit here at quarter to Nine  AM. I contemplate if I should spark up a doob now or wait until kick off.............. Um. ....Yeah, now works. A different outlook might make picking a tune easier..... Yeah, sure it will.

A few tokes did not help. I had been in a quandary before I sparked up. Now, besides the quandary, I am dazed and confused to boot and really don't care what tune I pick.  I'm too busy watching the snow come down and enjoying one of my older playlists turned up to WOW. Each tune I listen to, I tell myself:

"Yeah Mike, this one rocks.... Use it for the post."

Then the next tune starts and I am not sure the one I picked would be right, this new one is even better. .........  And so it goes; the trials and tribulations of an aging Stoner.

Here is "Hooch", recorded by Everything 25 years ago. Nice tune.

Cutting the Cord

Pipe Tobacco, a blogging buddy of more than a few years, asked me to write about my experience "cutting the cord".  That is, what has it been like to drop Cable?

I cut our monthly media bill from $230 / month with Direct TV down to just under $100 / month using a mish-mash of streaming channels, Sling TV, Neflix, Amazon Prime, and whatever stuff comes with Roku.  I picked Roku because, well, it was supposed to be easy to hook up.  And indeed, it was.  It seems to work fine as long as we are using Wi-Fi units that are in good working order.  Changing out that last one made the kitchen TV perk right up.

I am now trying to come up with the best antenna system for local TV reception.   I placed puny single TV antennas on each TV.  Depending on location, we pull in from 8 to 19 channels. I want to bring them all under one antenna so they all pull the same.  A central antenna in the attic is what I am going to try next.  But that's for later.

The package we had with Direct TV was somewhere near the top packages offered;  260 plus channels or some nonsense like that.  Problem was, a good 25% of them were infomercial channels and another 10% were religious or political in nature. And the unwanted channels were sprinkled in among the rest so we had to constantly skip all the dead weight to find the channels we wanted.  Cable cutting has definitely made surfing easier. Well, channel surfing being easier might be overstating some.  It is different and I don't have to deal with channels I know offer me nothing.

The learning curves apparently are not over yet even after having been cable free for a month now.

Each streaming service has its own idiosyncrasies that make navigating, saving, and watching enough different that some irritating rules can frustrate in minor ways.  I am still smoothing out my awkward remote use.

Streaming can be sometimes frustrating when right as the climax of that awesome murder mystery goes into full bore shoot everyone dead action, the evil circling the drain icon stops everything as the machine reboots the stream.  That problem led to my first lesson.  Have good Wi-Fi performance or hard wire each TV into the Internet.

Switching between offerings like from Antenna to SlingTV , then over to Netflix uses more remote muscles.  So if you are weak wristed or have a serious problem focusing, maybe cord cutting is not for you.  It does require more effort to use it. But it isn't like going from a riding mower to a push mower.  Still easy peasy, sit on your ass and switch those channels to your heart's delight.

Overall, I am not looking back and missing Cable.

Later ............................................................

Don't Mow Til the Black Eyed Susans Come

I had written up an elaborate tale filled with near death escapes and being snatched and whisked away to another dimension.  All in an effort to get around the fact that what is really to blame is I had  become less than a slug, lower than a sponge clinging to a reef, but just above a comatose sloth.

It was just three or so days ago I took off the snowblower and attached the mower deck.

I know.  I know.  I have heard it all before.  I have rationalized it all before.  The fact is   I just hate mowing grass.

This year's excuse was,

"I don't want to mow until the Black Eyed Susans come."

My wife just rolled her eyes.  But you know what, I'm gonna go with it.  The picture tells me I'm right.  Besides, I want a new cover photo for FB.

Keep it 'Tween the Ditches ................................................

Waiting

When I replay in my mind the escapades, events, interactions, and altercations of my past, I only remember the events.  The moments in between have been discarded. I am guessing they still exist in some locked overfilled binder labeled "filler time".   Those empty moments are no longer retrievable.  I assume in my case there is only so much room up there in the void between my ears to store shit and empty moments remembered would just be cluttering up a smaller space than the average human carts around on their shoulders.

The other day I called a bike shop customer who lives near my house.  I had hauled his repaired bike to my house the other day to save him having to go into town to pick it up.  No problem, I do it often.  I'm coming home anyway.  He told me he would be right up.

I am not sure what "be right up" meant to him.  All I know is hang around for someone who might need 5 minutes to "be right up"and they still have not made it after 30 minutes, well it became clear to me his notion of "be right up" did not dovetail cleanly into my notion of "be right up".

While I cooled my heels until he showed I considered just how much time I had spent waiting during the last 60 years.  And because any time waiting falls into the category of "filler time", it never made it to the hard drive in my brain.  An accurate accounting of any time I have spent waiting is not going to happen.  I did determine though after considering all the ways one can wait, I spent a good portion of my time on this planet waiting.  The number of things I have waited on seem infinite.

I have waited for things to begin.  I have waited for things to end.  And once past the waiting for things to begin but before waiting for things to end I have sometimes waited for that thing to resume after having paused for one reason or another.

I have waited for people to show up.  I have waited for people to leave.  I have waited for people to speak.  I have waited for them to shut the Hell up.  I have waited for deliveries, mail, and the occasional email not sent to me robo style.

I have waited in line.  I have waited to get to that line so I can get in line.  I have waited to go to the bathroom.  I have waited occasionally for something to happen once I got to that bathroom stall.  I have waited for pots to boil, burgers to grill, and fish frying in a pan.  And don't get me started about waiting for traffic lights to change.  Once I began thinking about it, I have spent more time in my life waiting than actually doing.

Kinda diminishes the grand impression of what I have to show for existing 60 years on this rock.  Too bad I had to wait 60 years before I figured it out.

Later.............................................................

Hooters on Parade

The real part of Life has reared it's ugly head again. Bike shop madness and warm enough weather to be outside in shorts has my attention now. A re-roofing project in between work, riding, and well whatever else I can manage to cram into my days looks to be the normal existence for me in the foreseeable future. Anyway, I dropped the blogging ball and it looks like it is going to be another shaky period of erratic appearances.

Other than offering excuses for my slacker-ness, I did have some fun news to impart to any of you who enjoy the idea of topless women. About half of you have probably dropped interest at this point, but I am sure the guys are at least still paying attention.

On April 3rd, dozens of women and many men staged a parade in Tommy's Park in Portland, Maine. It appears there are some folks in our state who feel Society's double standard regarding male and female nudity is an important enough of an issue to stage a protest. A topless protest. A Hooter Parade.

I dunno, Early April seems a tad early to be thinking of baring one's boobs in Maine. But they lucked out. It was unseasonably warm on Saturday. Not an erect nipple in sight I guess.

This protest would have impressed me more if these angry citizens had been really exercising their right to be civilly disobedient. But alas, their bare boobs were legal. There is no state law against women going topless in Maine. Although I wonder if there shouldn't be one for some of the men.

All this begs the question or is it questions? Did Maine lawmakers screw up when they missed this obvious chance to legislate morality? Or do we have sensible legislators who know that Maine's climate and voracious insect population will keep the topless madness to a minimum? Or is that they just don't see the sense in passing a law about something that should be handled locally? I know Acton would and maybe does have a no loose boobs rule. Hell, not too long ago lips were flapping over the hot dog lady who hung out at the foot of Mousam Lake selling hotdogs while wearing a very modest bikini.

Regardless, I love it when people tweak America's uptight Victorian sensibilities. And what is even better is America can still handle this kind of protest. Although I am guessin the same kind of event in Omaha might do more than raise eyebrows.

I think more of the ladies should brave the elements and do the legal thing when the weather is right. For some reason the image of a topless female riding a John Deere lawn tractor puts a smile on my face. I might even slow down and wave.

Topless Parade in Portland Maine from Jared Anderson on Vimeo.

Task Force

I was just going to pull a hit n run at Loew's on my way home from handing off Rob's Bike to Fed Ex in Portland. I needed some fresh AA batteries and some Greased Lightening. And for the most part it was indeed a quick visit. Might have spent 10 minutes inside. Considering the fact I can spend hours wandering up and down the aisles seriously contemplating what project I could supply out of this aisle or that section, 10 minutes is barely enough time to make it from the entrance to the exit.

My usual routine is to spend at least 1/2 an hour lusting after and fawning over the lawn tractors before I even think to begin any particular trip through handyman heaven. I wonder if I will ever own another lawn tractor. And if I do, will my visits after be the same? Will I still run my fingers over the shiny red or green paint? Fondle the shifters as I drink with horny eyes the deep knob patterns of the drive tires. No, I think the romance will be over once I have decided to and actually have taken one of those 18 HP tauntresses home with me.

I vowed that today's trip was in, out, wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Follow the list with no deviation or stopping to flirt with those shiny 8 foot long Stainless Steel barbeques. Covering my eyes if I even come close to the power tool section. Tonight, I would be efficient. Business like.

I knew just where in aisle 5 to look for the Greased Lightening. I wash and degrease hunderds of bikes in a season. Finding a good bang for the buck degreaser is never far from my mind. Greased Lightening may not be perfection in a degreaser, but it works as well if not better than degreasers costing over twice as much. Kicks Simple Green's butt. When I buy it, I buy it by the gallon. And never have I left without at least two bottles. Like I said I wash a lot of bikes.

Knowing the batteries are always camped out near the automated check outs that scare me so much, I head right to them so I can leave without more temptations from deeper inside the beast. Check out and head home.

That was the plan. That was my best intention. The overall scheme.

But I am a guy. And guys are as bad as the ladies when confronted with the baubles, gadgets and gizmos that guys tend to collect as they pass through this life. As a guy, all I have to do is say to myself, "Oh look, they have flashlights next to the batteries. I am tired of that wimpy light I have to hold in my mouth or between my legs when I am trying to change the belt in the sno-blower."

I probably have 10 flashlights kicking around, but I still take 5 minutes to check out what Loew's is pushing as the latest and greatest in the flashlight world. Immediately it became clear, 5 minutes would not be enough time to give their selection the consideration it deserved. I wanted a light that would stand alone and still be adjustable to direct the light where I needed it. I settled on the Task Force 6 volt Z light. Only 13 bucks, came with a battery and the package assured me the Task Force would stand up and hold the light for me. I wouldn't have to deal with the running dialog that usually comes with the helping hand my wife provides.

As I hurried to my truck so I could bust open the package, insert the battery,and see how it worked, I realized that I am as weak as the next man when confronted by stacks of the things that I want. I have no right to the consuming moral high ground when considering my own tendencies to bring home more than was on the list. I am weak. I need to be protected from what I want.

Afterword to finish on a high note -

~ I wore blue today in remembrance of my ongoing inability to remember St. Patrick's Day. The day was almost gone when I realized my disrespectful attire. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

~ This post pounded out silently without any stumbling attempts to keep even a 4/4 beat going.

High Speed Chase

I often have no clue about what to post here. And rather than post the same old blogging rant, American Idol suck up, or add to the mountains of political blog crap, I choose to post nothing. I always figure it is better to say nothing than waste my time and yours with words that are there just because I can.

My loyal fanbase of about 10 people do not seem to mind these lengthy breaks. And I would certainly not want to overwhelm them with too much of a good thing. But a blog that is not kept up is a sad blog. So I have decided to pick up the pace and post more than once a week or so. Today is the start of the streak.


The High Speed Chase

It appears a homeowner in Arkansas tried to do a little too much multi-tasking over the weekend. Everyone knows that weekends are Miller Time. And every one of us who owns a house with a yard attached knows weekends are also Mowing time.

Michael Ginevan of Bunker Hill Arkansas apparently decided to cram as much fun and work into the weekend as possible. Going on the assumption that all work and all play could never be dull, Mike strapped a case of beer to the hood of his lawn tractor and we presume meant to mow his lawn. Makes sense if one has limited time to indulge and also be expected to keep that Better Homes and Gardens look.

Anyway, at some point that day, Mike lost track of what he was doing I guess. He was spotted by local police scooting down the road in an erratic and dangerous manner. And when the police officer attempted to pull him over, Mike grinned and punched it. He was not going to be taken alive.

Reaching speeds of up to 10 MPH, the cop had to finally abandon his patrol car and continue the chase on foot. As the officer closed in, he bravely threw his body into harms way and knocked Mike off the tractor.

Mike continued his beligerent and drunken toot by refusing to take a field sobriety test. Now Mike sits in the county lock up on $7500 bail and is charged with DUI, unlawful fleeing, and obstructing an officer. Seems Mike had himself one Helluva weekend.

The only reason I brought this story up is that it reminded me of my college days. One of those current events that brings back memories of foolishness from our past.

As a college student whose family lived 600 miles away, it was not always convenient to go home for every silly vacation the educators managed to snake into every semester. So I would head home with a college buddy for the 4 or 5 days we had off.

One such vacation, I went with Tommy to his home in the heart of Maryland tobacco country. To earn some extra cash, we worked on a local tobacco farm owned by some of Tom's relatives for a few days. It was hard work. Hanging bundles of tobacco plants in wooden barns 30 feet off the ground.

The farm was a family owned operation as most farms in the 70s were. The patriarch who was about 70 years old worked as hard as anyone. I remember asking Tom if the guy ever took a break. Tom said his great uncle's idea of leisure was to throw two cases of warm Black Label beer into the Massey Ferguson tractor and head out to disk the fields for the day. He would head out at dawn and not come home until the Sun set. And not one can of Black Label came back full.

What Was I Thinking

I had plans to share tales of my years living on the road jockeying big rigs around this huge land of ours. I searched through many many thumbnails for a decent picture of a big truck. I looked for a picture that reminded me of the trucks I had become friends and ultimately enemies with. Not satisfied with the many sad examples that passed my view, I came upon this icon of the hippy years. The years I came of age. The years I found wonder and trouble just about everyday.

I sat and stared at this cartoon by R Crumb and forgot for a moment the substance abuse Hell I lived through then. I dismissed the long lonely times when I lived alone in my truck, washed my clothes and showered at the closest Union 76 truck stop. I pushed back the memories of an all asphalt super slab world. The cops, the logs, and the haze I existed in. Lost in my Pollyanna memories I longed for the stink of diesel that hung on me day in day out.

I sat and stared at this picture and saw it as R Crumb probably meant it. An inspiration to the hip and the stoned. Life goes on and you just need to "keep on truckin". Keep on keepin on. I thought for a moment. He was right. And from the way things turned out, that is just what I did.

No plan. I kept waking up everyday and found my way to the next day. I am here now, sober and sane these last 30 years. And for the life of me, I have no idea why I had to hit bottom so many times in so many ways so long ago. No regrets. But I am some puzzled now about just what the Hell I was thinking.

A Brothel of Mechanical Whores - Part One

5 years ago the 1976 16HP Yard Man tractor my dad left me finally shit the bed. Something in the tranny went ka-blooey and it would only go forward in 5th gear. Tired of the increasing tendency of old parts failing at the wrong moment, I shoved it in the back of the garage and began mowing my 2 acre yard with a walk behind mower.

Lack of deep enough pockets kept me from even contemplating a new riding mower. That was then, this is now. I have 5 years of pushing a 22" swath through 2 plus acres of incessant green. I also find my pockets could now handle the idea of a new riding mower. Add in the fact that I have met my wife's criteria of no new equipment until the old had been tossed and the time was ripe for me to begin to dream.

So a few weeks ago while on a quest for other DIY stuff from Loew's, I told myself I would check out their mower section for a minute. When I found their display area, that minute turned into an hour. There were 12 or so riders sitting there seductively, all gleaming and shiny, promising a no hassle beautiful lawn should I just plop down the card and take one home. It was a brothel of mechanical whores.

I was instantly in love again. Only this time, not one but 12 lovers beckoned me and I could not choose. I would stand next to a Husky and run my fingers over it's hood and that red paint shouted sexual lawn pleasure should I fire up it's beefy 23 HP twin V motor and allow the 54 inch deck to hover over my grass. Mowing with this little beauty promised pleasures beyond my comprehension.

But soon I noticed a red Troy Bilt winking at me. She had a confident air and clean look that drew me away from the Husky. I fondled her mower deck and I swear she shivered. I was in lawn mowing heaven.

But then I looked across the aisle and there before my eyes the green and yellow paint of 5 different John Deere's shook their little PTO's at me and I was smitten. I almost ran over to them. I had heard about JD's. They had the rep. They always delivered.

Almost too bashful to even touch them I just circled each one and carefully turned over the teaser cards found attached to each steering wheel. I think I read the specs. I am not sure now though. All I remember is the fit like a glove feeling I got as I boldly climbed up on one and sat down. That yellow weather resistant seat caressed my ass and fit my back like it knew me intimately or soon would should I take her home.

The steering wheel was soft to the touch but hinted at rugged determination should the terrain get dicey. I swear it purred with pleasure as I gripped her wheel hard. As I sat lost in my fantasy, I gazed down at a dash full of intriguing knobs and small lights. I could only guess their purpose. I was sure they would enhance the experience though. These painted up hussies had turned my head.

At some point I remembered my original mission and regretfully left that alluring brood of mechanical seductresses and found the heating duct parts I had come for in the first place. To say it was a letdown to find myself taking home duct work instead of a new girlfriend would be an understatement. The severe case of mechanical blue balls I drove home with drove in my disappointment with every pothole I encountered.

End of Part One