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Monday, June 16, 2008

A Friend's Actions Speak Louder Than Words -- Walk Quietly, Carry A Big Flash Light And a Small Tweezers

I just re-read last night's entry and realized that I must have been more tired than I realized. I left out part of my adventure with the deer crossing. so that's been corrected. I wish that all of life was like that, eh?

Today I spent a good share of it with both the riding mower and the push mower trying to re-gain actual yard from the Pampas that has taken over at 4896 Hobbs since the rains came.

Can anyone explain to me how a push mower won't start for an entire summer (after being taken in for a tune up) and then pops right off on the first pull of this summer. I don't get it!!!

Last summer I pulled that damn cord 'til I was blue in the face. I tried not choking it. I tried over choking it. I tried both within the span of eight hours. All I got for my effort was really pissed!

So I go out to the shed and there it is, laughing at me over in the dark corner where I left it in disgust last September. I think to myself: "What the hell -- I'll give it ONE chance." I pop the choke 4 times as directed and give the cord a mighty pull and booom! It springs to life like I have just used it yesterday. It's nuts!


Oh! Before I forget! If you have HBO, don't miss Dana Carvey's latest HBO Special "Squatting Monkeys Never Lie". If you don't get HBO, call a friend who does and beg an opportunity. In the throes of my latest depression, he is like God's EMT's.

His take on our political scene is priceless, particularly his portrayal as the "Oracle Reagan" and his take off on Cheney's shooting the Texas lawyer in the face.

I honestly laughed until tears rolled down my face. Carvey is one of our great gifts and it has been way too long since we hve heard from him. Don't miss this one!


So I am a little nervous sitting here typing away after having been wading in the tall grass all afternoon for fear of those creepy little parasites. Oh, you know the ones I'm talkin' 'bout! Let me tell you what happened to me last Friday night after my first campaign against the overgrowth.

About 10PM I am watching television up in the loft. Kim has taken off on thursday for a week with her mom and sister and I am batching it -- which means I am going to be up at odd hours -- most of the night -- soaking in the tub, reading, watching movies.

Anyway, I am watching the History channel in HD -- when suddenly I am aware of a pain emanating from a very hard to reach or see part of my ah - er -- nether regions. It is, I feel, a cross between the feeling you get from a nail scratch and some kind of bug bite and, as I say, it is located -- how can I best locate it for you -- just where the back of the inner thigh meets the turn to the groinola --or as it is sometimes referred coarsely to as the "t'aint" -- because "t'aint anus and t'aint ball sack. Is that too much information?

Well,I am all alone so my first instinct is to send out the scouting party, Mr. Hand, to check for lacerations or (God forbid)one of them damn little almost microscopic deer ticks that are running rampant with this rainy summer. Mr. Hand takes inventory (who asked?) and returns to report that there is indeed a tender area in the region heretofore described, but Mr Hand could not determine if said tenderness is being caused by a parasite as Mr. Hand could not come to grips with any such creature.

So now it's time to head down to the bath room, retrieve a mirror, and do further scouting. But that's right. Ms Wilson has taken the hand mirror (not to mention the tweezers) with her to Minneapolis.

So now, replaced right knee and all, I must become contortionist enough to get said area lit by the little bulbs around the bathroom make up mirror -- no small task for even Houdini when he was in his prime -- much less a 66 year old with a knee replacement.

After 15 minute of twisting, turning, and cursing, I manage to get the light on the nether region in question (still don't know how_) and my worst suspicions are then confirmed as I can see a very minute brown spot with a circle of redness emanating from it.

I have no tweezers so I begin, as best I can between leg spasms, to attempt to scrape at the microscopic brown "thingie" with my finger nail. This accomplishes little more than to make the rash extremely angry.

Now it's decision time. It's nearly 10:30PM on a Friday night. My choices: Go to the hospital to "emergency care", risking a big bill from our new insurance carrier, or give my good friend (god, he would HAVE to be!) Gordy Bischoff, who lives less than two miles away, a call and explain the situation and beg his mercy.

I opt for the Gordy decision and hope that he has not already gone to bed. Luckily he has company and is still up. I explain the situation.

He says not to worry. He will be over in five minutes with a flash light and a tweezers!

When Gordy first shines the light on it, he doesn't think it is a tick because it's too little -- but on further review he realizes that it is, in fact, one of the smallest he's ever seen.

Fortunately he is able to get hold of the little bugger with the tweezers and yanks him out with little trouble.

I share this with you only to give you an example of what a true friend is!



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