Author Archives: Jerrie Cate

Fires, Trees, Pope Francis, and Food

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The skies all over Oregon are filled with the smoke of numerous forest fires burning around the state. It’s sad to see all those trees burn but, you know what? There is more standing forest now than there was when Lewis & Clark visited the area. The cause, lightening, is still a common cause, but the reason we have more now is because we have brave people, with excellent equipment, willing to go out and fight the fires. Back in L&C’s days, they just burned until they went out on their own.

Speaking of all those trees – Why aren’t more of them logged and milled in the USA? Maybe they really are, and we just don’t know it. What I see in our neck of the woods, on both sides of the Columbia River, are HUGE water front collecting facilities for logs that are loaded on cargo ships which are destined for the other side of the Pacific. Some rumors I’ve heard (conspiracy?) is the many of these logs are transported to huge ships, outside our 12 mile limit, that make cheap plywood and return it to the US for sale. I don’t think that’s true, but it’s an interesting concept. They really do, however, get carted out of the country by the boat load. Literally.

When writing this stuff, I have begun to research what my fingers report, and continually find myself going down ‘conspiracy theory’ paths. Some are quite involved, and interesting. Fun reading.

For the record, if anyone who reads this works for the government, I don’t believe any of that conspiracy theory stuff. Not me. No sir. I think the government is full of honorable people who have my personal well-being very high on their list of priorities … right below their pay raises, private medical plans, raiding social security, screwing up the medical world, figuring new ways to get taxes from us for which there is no need except to line their pockets. All of these yahoos should take a page from Pope Francis’ book on how to conduct yourself when in a position of power. He’s really something and kinda makes me think it’s OK to be Catholic.

Actually, it is OK to be Catholic … or anything you wish to be along religious lines.

Although we are far away from the current forest fires in Oregon, our sunsets are much more dramatic because of the smoke. We can smell the fires burning, too.

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OK – I cheated because I don’t have a current picture of a smoke affected sunset. This one is a sunrise. I like it because you can see the crescent moon over Mt. Hood. And, it’s not even a summer sunrise – it’s from November 2010. Still, it’s pretty, even though it’s a little ‘ho hum’ by Oregon standards … yawn … (take that, Jewel).

Just as I sat down to do this, about 3 hours ago, the smoke alarm went off so I knew supper was ready and had to stop. We had tri tip steak. Very good. I like it because I don’t have to gnaw meat off the bone. We also had beets and smashed potatoes. I regret not taking a picture for you, but here are some previous meals you may have missed …

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Diane just told me it’s midnight and time to stop. Last time I looked it was only 10 pm. Guess I’m not a real clock-watcher anymore, like I used to be …

G’nite.

911, Eye Doctor, Fultano’s, and a Laptop

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Yesterday a neighbor was at our door when we got home, looking for some help to help pick Bob Up. He falls down once in a while and they usually call 911 for help getting him vertical. I told them I’d be more than happy to give it a shot, and it worked. We popped him right back on his feet. He was sternly lectured by his wife for trying to carry his sandwich out to the porch. I guess the bees got most of what was left by the time I got there.

This afternoon Diane went to the eye doctor for one of her checkups. Her tear ducts are on the fritz, which isn’t a good thing. While she was gone, I worked with Doug on the American Legion laptop that was doing all kinds of weird things. I knew immediately what the problem was, of course, being the semi-nerd I am, and got busy on the ‘fix’. Then we went to lunch at Fultano’s in Scappoose.

On the way, I texted Jack to see if he was working so he could go if he wasn’t working. He wasn’t, so I stopped to get him on the way. So, it was the Peal brothers vs. the Cate brothers, plus two others the Peals brought for reinforcement. Jack had never been to Fultano’s before, so it was a treat for him. It was all you can eat salad bar and pizza for $7.15, including a drink. Very good stuff.

Upon returning home, I finished cleaning up the laptop and sent Doug an email that it was ready. However, Doug doesn’t check his email very often any more, but I know he reads this, so, Doug, the laptop is done.

The only other thing I did today was start the ’73 RV, just to see if it would. It fired right up. Better than the ’79 ever starts. Interesting.

Later in the evening I got in trouble, but I don’t want to talk about it. Instead, I’m going to bed.

PT, RV, TV, & Lydia

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Today I actually got to pretend like I’m retired. At least for a little while. The only interruption to the day was my last PT appointment with EB at the VA. I don’t have to go back. Oh, the shoulder still hurts, but it was determined by mutual agreement that what needs to be done, I can do at home. As a parting gift, EB gave me a brand spanking new, in he box, ice pack. All I have to do, which I already did, is toss it into the freezer for a while. A great gift, and so simple to care for.

On the way home we decided to celebrate the lunch hour  by ingesting ground up parts of a dead cow. We seem to do that a lot. I know, it doesn’t really sound good when presented in that manner, but I’m not going to shade the truth. It is what it is. I still do not get the reference to pigs for the sandwiches created from the remains of that poor old cow. I think her name was Clarissa. Parts of her are probably still out there in someone’s freezer.

OK – sorry I went down that road, but it’s done and I can’t take it back.

After lunch, we returned home and let Panzee run free in the front yard for a while. Ozzie had to be forcibly relocated from his beloved kennel to the front yard for a little exercise, but he couldn’t wait to get back inside. Since he discovered what his last bowel movement cost, he’s decided, I guess, to just not ever have another one. His increased reclusive nature could also be the result of his distemper shot. We’re not sure. We just know he’s very not a happy camper right now.

One of my tasks today was to measure how many square feet of floor is visible in the old ’73 Winnebago. Turns out there’s around 42 square feet. Small, huh? The reason for obtaining those measurements is because so we’ll know how much replacement material we’ll need when we rip out the terribly stained carpet.

As luck would have it, we have some real deal bamboo flooring in our basement. It was purchased many years ago on a whim after seeing an advertisement on Craig’s List. I think there was a plan when we got it, but it was lost somewhere along the way. Maybe it was destined for the old Winnebago all along. The flooring consists of 24 boards, 3.75 inches wide, and 62.6 inches long which works out to a bit less than the area we need to cover. So, I’m either going to have to cheat on the math, or put spaces between the boards. Using spaces, they will eventually fill up with dirt and dust so that may be a viable solution. Diane will disagree, I’m sure. She does that a lot.

For fun, I set up the portable DirecTV HD antenna out by the garage and hooked up the DVR system in the ’79 Winnebago. I tried this yesterday, too, failing dismally. I knew where to point it, but getting it level proved to be extremely difficult. Today when I tried it, I discovered there’s a bubble level on the antenna, so it was a breeze. With bricks I was able to counteract the influence of the wind which was causing the dish to wiggle a bit, disallowing any possibility of obtaining a good signal strength. It went from ‘0’ to ’96’ plus, for all 32 whatevertheheck it is the DVR measures.

Once I got the good signal, I had a great picture … on channel 100.  Nothing else was available to me because the DVR hasn’t been turned on since last year some time. Now it’s going to be on every day. I’m just going to go out there every once in a while and turn it on, just because I can.

Now, about the portable antenna. It’s the same size as the ones mounted on homes. In fact, it used to be mounted on someone’s home but it was liberated and presented to me. It’s been languishing beside the garage for a few years but hasn’t lost any of its ability to capture digital images. It’s not even rusty like the one on the house.

My success in obtaining a stellar picture in the old motor home was obliterated by the fact that the DirecTV package I ordered does not include HGTV. Oh, the horrors that await me when we hit the road. I’m sure that aspect of the satellite programming will be reconsidered. Thankfully, that can be done on a whim. DirecTV is more than happy to up the ante, so to speak, by adding even more channels to the many you already don’t watch.

Speaking of that, I think satellite, and cable, providers should have an ala carte menu for programming suits each viewer. They can, we already know, be very selective about which channels you can get (the minimum is 55 for us, it seems, most of which we’ll never view) so why not just give us all the locals, TNT, Pac12, ESPN, MGMHD, SyFy, and, of course, HGTV. So charge me $5 apiece for each channel. I don’t care. Don’t give me the ‘package’ of 55 channels of which I will only, ever, watch those mentioned above.

I guess it’s not really a big deal, since I can set a favorites list, but that takes time to go through all those channels. Maybe Diane will do it. Another option, I guess, is to write down the channels we like and just punch in the numbers. Yea. That’s a reasonable solution. It just bugs me to see that hugs list of channels and not be able to see all of them. It’s a ‘thing’.

Now, the most interesting news is about Lydia. Summer is ending, there’s 2 weeks until she begins her freshman year in high school, and she was blessed with a solid case of Fifth Disease that will not dissipate until well after school pictures are taken. With Lydia’s permission, I’m sharing a photo that was taken yesterday when her face was all purple, and splotchy, and a little swollen. Every 14-year-old’s dream look, don’t you think?

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Today, however, there’s very little, if any, swelling, and there’s no rash but it’s still covered with purple splotches. But, as you can see by the below picture, you would never know it.

Thanks to Avon, and the fact that her lovely Grandmother has lots of their products, they were able to rid her of that ‘look’ to ensure school pictures will probably not have to be repeated. It’s totally amazing.

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I think she is a very brave, confident young lady to have allowed me to share the photos. She just rolls with the punches. That’s my Girl.

The $66 Bowel Movement

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OK, here’s the story. Probably not a popular topic, but it’s about constipation. It’s not about normal constipation, either. It’s about a constipated dog. A little dog who, on his last visit to the vet weighed in at 6 lbs. Ozzie weighed over 7 lbs when we got there. He had quit eating, and wouldn’t leave his kennel, so he had to go to the dog doctor.

After a nice long talk with Dr. Brooks, we all agreed that Ozzie, our victim, probably needed an enema because there was no evidence that he’d had any activity of that nature in the past four days, or so. Since there was no way in hell I was giving him one, we took him to her. When he’s testy, like today, he bites.

Upon hearing the latter, the good Dr. backed up a little and said, “but he so cute and looks so friendly.”

“It’s a trick,” I said, reaching down to touch his side and said, “he gets a little testy when you touch him here.”

As if to prove the point, Oz reached around with his lightning fast teeth and chomped a hole in my right hand pointing finger. It bled considerably so the dog Dr. got me cleaning solution with which I scoured my finger, and an assistant got me a band-aid to staunch the flow of blood. It’s been six hours and it still hurts. Why do dog bites hurt for so long? Especially little dog bites?

After proving his point, I showed the Dr. how Oz could be picked up without injury to either him or her, and she carried him away to the back room where all the fun stuff happens. She returned in about five minutes to report all was good. Putting a muzzle on him was the only motivation he needed to evaluate his bowels. How nice. No enema. He was right there when we were talking about it so it’s obvious he heard everything. I would have covered his ears, but he doesn’t like it and shows me his teeth when I do that. Dr. Brooks added that by him doing that, he saved us a few bucks.

I’m sure Oz was more than humiliated by having a BM while being watched by a group of attractive women. It doesn’t get much worse than that, unless you have a severe case of epididymitis and your female doctor calls in another female doc to have a look. What fun.

So, it cost $66 for Oz’s office visit, a distemper shot update, and a dose of worm meds, and it was worth every penny, even if it had only been for the BM.

We should have weighed him before exiting the office because I’m sure he pooped a pound, at least.

Before and after all this I worked on the ’73 Blue Bago. You may recall that when I left it, the mechanical fuel pump was giving me fits because I couldn’t get the bolts in. This morning, it dropped right into place, and the bolts went in simple as can be. It was wonderful. I actually got that done before taking Oz to the doc, and getting bit. It worked perfectly. The engine ran and everything.

After returning with Oz, who promptly ran to his kennel, I put his morning bowl of pouch food near the opening and he gobbled it right up. I suspect that after not eating much for a few days, he was a bit hungry. It was good to see him eat something besides me.

Then I returned my attention to the ’73 BB. The final quest for success involved connecting both fuel tanks to the switch to ensure the engine ran off both tanks. It seems to work just fine, but I honestly don’t know if the switch works. I does, indeed, make a satisfying clicky kind of noise, when I move the switch, but I do not know if it’s actually switching tanks. Both fuel gauges read empty, but I know I poured a few gallons into one of them. It will become evident one of these days when we take it for a ride and run out of gas somewhere on Highway 30.

After playing with gas, I turned my attention to the water pump that failed. On Sunday, after church, I glued it all back together with super-duper silicone sealant. After drying for well over 24 hours I installed it and cranked it up.

It still leaks.

I ordered a new one on eBay and it should be here by the end of the week. Until the new pump arrives, it will remain waterless.

Now I’m tired.

Coffee Hour

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Today, after church, we had the traditional Lutheran Coffee Hour which is an opportunity for the Church Ladies to clean out the fridge, feeding it to unsuspecting visitors. That sounds bad, I know, but it really isn’t. The food is always exceptional because, if for no other reason, it’s a free meal.

Coffee Hour responsibilities rotate amongst the WELCA ladies, or whoever is willing to volunteer, and some of them make the occasion healthy by feeding us apple and orange slices, grapes, and cheese. It’s all good. I can make a meal of that.

The best coffee hours are those that occur shortly after a pot luck because there’s always tons of food left over explicitly for that purpose. The next best are the ones following a bake sale. Then we get pie, cake, lemon bars and brownies for lunch.

It’s just great and once, during a lucid moment while descending from a sugar high, inspired me to write a one page story. I write a lot of one page stories because by the end of the first page I’ve pretty much run out of things to write about.

So, to save wear and tear on my fingers, I’ll just cut and paste this ditty from, wow, 2001. You don’t have to read it. It is, after all, old. But, it’s pretty typical of our coffee hours. The only thing that changes is the kind of food. Today, for instance, we had left over beans, potato salad, and hot dogs. My impulse is to say ‘weenies’, not hot dogs but, as reported previously, I’ve discovered that some folks construe that word in an unacceptable way. Regardless, it was all good.

I regret I have no photos of the original, or today’s meal, but here’s one of some corn I had to eat the other day …

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Now, the story. Oddly, I named it “Coffee Hour”.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Start >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The service was finally over then we were funneled down to the basement and placed in a position that required us to consume large quantities of pastry and coffee. For some, this is the most important part of Sunday service.  Pastor has expanded the normal monthly coffee hour to include all Sundays on a more informal basis. Still, it’s the 2nd Sunday that brings out the best in the Church Ladies.

On the way down the stairs I stop to investigate the innards of our mailbox, conveniently located on the landing. Nothing there. Diane beat me to it again. That’s OK. I’ll get a chance to read whatever was there when she forgets and sets it on a table. I’ll snatch it up when she’s got a cookie halfway to her mouth. Not that it would make a difference – I doubt if she’d even lose a crumb off that cookie.  She would hand it to me if I just asked, but being sneaky about it is more fun. Or, I could go read someone else’s mail that hadn’t been picked up yet – someone who wasn’t here today. Yeah, I could do that. After all, their mail was just like ours no doubt. Again, no fun. I needed a little challenge.

I’m at the end of the line near the door to the front stairs and Diane is almost to the serving line. I would go join her, but Ev is between us and I know how he is about people cutting in front of him. I made that mistake once – it wasn’t pretty – won’t do it again – shouldn’t’ve done it the first time. But hey! I’m younger and quicker (I thought) so why not?  I had that urge again because the lemon bars were going quickly and there was a distinct possibility I wouldn’t get any if I didn’t do something to improve my place in line. So I just marched up and started talking with Ev about something (don’t remember what) and just kept it up while the line shuffled forward. Those around us didn’t realize the drama unfolding before them, but Ev knew. I watched him flick his eyes toward the plates of goodies every once in a while (I knew he was checking the lemon bars) as I continued my meaningless banter.

Just before we reached the counter Jeff came by and greeted to me. This stopped my drivel and caused me to avert my attention from Ev to Jeff. Ev took that opportunity to swiftly fill the space I had vacated thereby sealing the line, making it necessary for me to return to the end and start over. It’s a Church Rule. There was absolutely no way I was getting lemon bars today. No way. Bummer. But, I had to finish the line. While I was working my magic on Ev, twelve more people had arrived, so there was a possibility I might not get anything.  As I wasted away at the end of the line all I could think about was how thankful I was that we have communion every Sunday. Makes missing a cookie or two relatively unimportant.

As that last thought flashed through my numbed mind, Ev came by, paused for a moment, looked me sternly in the eye, then handed me one of the two lemon bars on his plate. What a guy! Sharing his lemon bars! Not many would do that. As I stood there in wonder, thankful for Ev’s generosity, I looked down at the lemon bar cradled on the napkin in my outstretched hand. It was a great lemon bar. Must have been about 3 inches by 2 inches – generous cuts by the Church Ladies.

Just as I was recovering from Ev’s kind gesture, Diane came over. Seeing the lemon bar in my outstretched hand, she took it with a “thanks, Honey!” and went to her chair. My eyes moved from my empty hand to Diane, no words coming. Once again I had nothing with a strong possibility of not improving that stance. The line moved on without me but that didn’t matter since there was no one behind to urge me on. 

When Diane got to her seat she turned and said, “come on, I got you some coffee and cookies.” That perked me up. I wasn’t leaving empty-handed after all. Oh yeah, it was OK that she took the lemon bar since it was for her anyway. I can take them or leave them, but she goes into withdrawal if she doesn’t get a lemon fix at least once a month. Me? I’ve been known to do some pretty embarrassing things for an oatmeal raisin cookie.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Stop >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Now you can quit and do something useful with your time.

Thanks

Our Church Parking Lot Sale & Lug Nuts

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Today it turned in to a fairly large, multi-family garage sale, without the garage. Lots of nifty stuff, including a decent meal, for a free will offering and worth every penny. The weather is currently hot and humid but this morning there was a distinct threat of rain, so it kind of dampened folks’ spirits for a short time.

The sale was supposed to begin at 10 am and people started showing up at 8:30, right on time. Like any yard or garage sale, people want a bargain. When I was calling the prices things moved swiftly because I haven’t got a clue as to what ‘things’ are worth. They are worth whatever someone wants to pay for them. I figured it was a good rule of thumb.

………….. skip ahead one day here ………………

Things went sideways up there so I stopped and never got back to this. Mostly what happened is I got involved in long conversations with whoever came by to get a hot dog. I learned a valuable lesson while doing the hot dog thing … some women won’t accept the offer of a weenie, but they will if the offer is a hot dog. I tested that on three or four of them. I don’t understand … it’s the same thing, for crying out loud. Ya know?

One of the hot dog eaters was the young boy who lives in the parsonage, next to the church, which we rent out. He came by for a hot dog about 8 times. Two I know were his, and the rest were for his brother and friend who paid him to get dogs for them. After the 4th visit I shamed him into making a free will offering, like the sign says, so he started paying a quarter for each of them. He made 75 cents on each of the remaining ones. We, of course, lost money on that deal, but it was OK. He’s a good kid.

Today I got to learn a new skill in the area of auto mechanics. The PT that Dan and Jen have been driving started making lots of racket in the vicinity of the left front wheel. When I popped off the cover over the lug nuts, three of them fell out, along with the portions of the wheel lugs that had broken off. Of the two remaining lug nuts, one was finger tight meaning the wheel was being held to the car with only one lug nut. Amazing.

After a little investigation on the internet, I discovered that the wheel lugs, though pressed into place, could be replaced. So, Daniel and I got together and did it. He did most of the work, of course, while I sat in my little lawn chair and supervised. I thought it was better that way so he would also know how to do it. Being much younger, he will no doubt have need of this knowledge after I’m long gone.

We had to remove everything off the wheel, then hammer the old lugs out. New ones, with new lug nuts, cost $22.00 at NAPA. Considering the possibilities, had the wheel come off, we figured it was a cheap price to eliminate at least one chance of dying on the highway. Really cheap, and not all that difficult to do if you just sit there and supervise.

Not I’m tired so think I’ll out back and play with the power washer.

401k’s, My Water Pump, and God

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I’ve delayed adding this entry because the number, 401, invokes some really sad memories of my previous employment. You see, the power company I worked for was purchased by ENRON and convinced a large number of employees that their stock was impervious to decline. Indeed, it rose rapidly, and stayed high for a long time. Being one of the gullible group, I cast my fortunes with them right up until they made it impossible to withdraw before the stock dropped to $0. Nice. So, my 401k disappeared, after 15 years of participation, in the virtual blink of an eye.

There’s my sad story for today.

Now on to fun stuff …

I worked on the RV today because last night I discovered the water pump leaked. It leaked a lot. This morning I removed it and ripped it apart to see what makes it tick. It was evident someone before me had a problem with it because, in addition to screws, it was held together with silicon gasket material. It was this that became compromised allowing water to squirt all over under the sink. Sadly, I won’t be able to replace parts in it because they don’t make this kind any more. I’ll have to buy a new one. I may let it dry out and see about making it water tight, once again, but don’t have any high hopes of that happening. It would be far easier to just replace it but, then, it’s been a while since I’ve had my fingers stuck together with silicone sealant. Might be kinda nice, for a change.

There’s good news – the ’79 RV still runs, and the transmission works! I know because I drove it to Warren and parked it at the church as agreed. It drives just great even though it hasn’t been driven for about a year. I start it once in a while, just for fun, so I know the engine is good. Might be a good idea to change the oil, though. You think?

Now it’s time to lounge for the evening. I have nothing significant to say except I’ve been working on my version of religious history. I think I’m on chapter seven. I’m doing it with the firm belief that God has a sense of humor. He must because I have not been hit by lightning, yet. There is, however, always tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll be labeled a blasphemer, at the minimum, and that’s OK because I know it’s not true.

I’m just having fun at God’s expense. Since he knows me so well, I don’t think he minds.

Blog # 400

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Hey! It’s a milestone! This is my 400th entry. You’d think that by now I would be a lot less full of crap than when I started, wouldn’t you? Diane doesn’t think so. She thinks I have a never-ending supply. I suppose I should be offended, kinda, but I’m not. I think, as Popeye would say, “I yam what I yam.”

Today was PT day for me at the VA, and I think it might be my last because the diagnosis changed a little bit. Instead of my rotator cuff, now it’s my bicep that’s deemed to be problematic and it can be addressed by pushing really, really hard on the part that hurts, just before applying ice. Diane said she’d be happy to do that for me so there’s really no need for me to visit EB at the VA any longer.

After the VA we took back roads from Portland to Hillsboro where we had lunch at the all you can eat joint. I had dead chicken, shrimp scampi, corn, mashed potatoes, buns, a root beer float, and frozen yogurt with hot fudge topping. Very nutritious. Well, it taste very nutritious, anyway, and that’s the important part.

After lunch went a few blocks to the Habitat For Humanity ReStore store to look for ‘stuff’. The original thought was to see if they had any of the panelling that looks like wainscoting to use in The Bathroom. Instead, we found wainscoting of various sizes that’s all tongue and groove on all four sides. Interesting. We bought almost all of it, in addition to a large area rug that will be placed in the dining room area once we rip out the rest of the carpet that’s there. This rug is, of course, for Ozzie who does not walk on hard wood, or ceramic tile floors. He needs rugs. Oddly, he has no problem walking the length of the garage floor. I think it has something to do with traction.

After the ReStore store visit, we went to Tuality Hospital in Hillsboro to visit our friend Tom. Linda was there, so got visit with her, too. Tom is doing absolutely great. He’s up walking the floor for his physical therapy and is doing wonderful. We had a nice long visit which ended when his PT person arrived to get him moving around. When he raised up and swiveled around to stand up I made him stop because he had on one of those backless gowns and I didn’t want the image of his ass burned into my brain as I knew it would never go away. He was kind enough to defer until I could get around in front of him and make my departure. We’re really proud of him. Of the three people who were on life support, including him, he’s the only one who made it out. There’s a reason. We don’t know what it is, yet, but we’ll be finding out.

On the way out of the hospital I stopped at the Admissions Desk and asked the young lady behind the counter if she was the one to whom I should confess. It was an impulse, and she immediately got it. You know … admit you did something wrong, or confess … all the same to me. She told me no in a very nice way, but I think she was on the phone to security as I made my way out the door.

Then we headed home. I told Diane what I did with the Admissions Lady and she asked, “Jerold, why do you do things like that? One of these days you’re going to ask the wrong person and they’ll just lock you up.” She was very serious, as she is every time she tells me that. I never listen, of course. I just cruise that fine line, down the middle of the decorum  column, with the belief that everyone has at least a little sense of humor. If they don’t, they should. Diane’s concern, with which I must agree, is that my sense of humor is a bit obscure for some folks. That’s OK. Can’t satisfy everyone.

Today is Newspaper Day for me. That’s when I go to the Lion’s Club newspaper collection container and straighten things up a bit. Someone does this every day to ensure only paper gets stacked inside. Most people follow the suggested rules, about paper only, but others couldn’t careless. It’s handy so they toss in whatever they have because a trash can is too far away. It’s usually not too bad. Today it was because someone decided it was OK to drop a bag of well used cat litter inside, and it leaked. Add to that the high temp today was just under 90, and it’s in a large, truck size, steel container, it just kind of permeated everything. I think the temp inside was well above 100 so exerting any kind of effort produced prodigious amounts of sweat which really messed up my glasses. I had to work fast because the smell was starting to get to me, and I had already called in an order for pizza. I was a total mess when I emerged from the container. Everything was wringing wet, even my socks, so folks in Papa Murphy’s were eager to see me get my pizza and leave.

As soon as I got home I fired up the oven and came to my computer to put together my agenda for tonight’s church council meeting. The whirlwind continued when Diane got home from taking her Mom to Safeway, the pizza was inserted, giving me only 8 minutes to do something before having to eat it. Actually 10 minutes. After 8 we turn it then cook it another 2. Perfect every time.

As we ate we watched Diane Sawyer news, then it was time for me to leave for my meeting. It was brutal. I’m home from my marathon meeting and got tired all over again just relating all that.

So now I’m quitting. It’s really sad that I didn’t have something really profound to share for my 400th entry. The best I could do was about Tom. You know, Tom’s situation is pretty profound, now that I think about it. It’s amazing! It’s a miracle! He’s literally  back from the dead to bless us with his presence a while longer. Maybe not all by his choice, however, I have no doubt that a strong will to survive had something to do with his recovery.

G’nite.

The Cat, Ants, & The Blue Bago

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Yesterday afternoon Jeff appeared with Gilligan and Baylee in tow. His goal was to move the play set to the back yard. The girls objective was to ignore him, and run all over the yard as fast, and as often as they could. They would also stop and pick apples and plums once in a while, but they wouldn’t eat what they picked so we had a discussion about that. Then they picked flowers. They had a great time.

Before putting the play set back together, Jeff power washed some of the pieces and parked them for drying. Breezie found it and conquered the climbing wall. Here’s proof:

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Now she can look over the rhoddie that she usually sleeps under. Funny cat.

In case you’re wondering about the yard, the only thing green are the dandelions I planted. According to the guy I got them from, in a couple of years the lawn should be green year round. I’m looking forward to that. So are the dogs.

Good news about Tom – he’s breathing well on his own, the hiccups are gone, and he wants me to bring him a bed pan. I plan to do that tomorrow. Linda and Coleen both reported that Tom now remembers Linda so she’s going to have to cancel that trip to Mexico. For a while there she didn’t think he would miss her. Now we all suspect that not recognizing her was a ruse, a ploy, messing with her head. That’s the Tom we know and love and it’s good to see him doing so well.

Today I worked almost all day on the Blue Winnebago. Did I tell you that it’s blue? No big deal, but it’s just wrong that someone did that. It will, one of these days, once again be Winnebago Green. The task for today, however, was to get the mechanical fuel pump issue resolved.

Toward that end, I was able to definitively determine that the old pump was, indeed, faulty. I ventured to Car Quest to see about getting a replacement, but they didn’t have one in stock. They had to order it from their warehouse. I was there around 11 am, and they had the part in hand by 3 pm. I don’t know where the warehouse is, but it can’t be all that far away for that kind of service.

While I was waiting for that part to arrive I discovered that I was competing with a rather large group of ants for space under the Blue Bago’s engine. Some of them made their presence known by looking me directly in the face as I sat under the rig with my back against the inside of the right front wheel. It’s pretty roomy under there, but the ants wanted it all. I did my best to ignore them, but it was difficult. This is what they looked like after most of our conversations …

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… and, in case you haven’t seen it, here’s the Blue Bago …

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I had to stay outside all day because Diane was cleaning the house, top to bottom. It’s the most thorough cleaning the house has had since she had her major battle with shingles. Up to this time, I did the vacuuming, which gives her fits, but I only did it when she asked me to. And, I never did it as good as she normally does. But it was my place to help her because that’s what partners do. It’s taken me a really long time to understand that when she starts doing something that I don’t have to jump in front of her and do it for her. Sometimes she likes to just do things herself. I made that difficult. That’s why I spent all my time outside today. She knew where I was if she needed help. If I had stayed inside I would have taken the vacuum away and made her sit on the couch. Instead, she collapsed on the couch.

Now she’s in the hot tub. It still has issues, but it warmed up the water nicely, to about 107 degrees, and the chemicals are stable. I don’t like using the hot tub so much for reasons I’ve stated in previous blogs. Simply put, hot tubs should be enjoyed naked but our neighbors don’t agree. Actually, neither does Diane.

Tomorrow I have PT w/EB @ the VA again. I don’t think the PT is helping much, but tomorrow’s trip will serve another purpose by getting us close to Tom’s hospital so I can deliver his bed pan.

It’s after 9 pm, now, so I must go.

Jerrie’s tired.