Yeah, I know. Just pointing out..... time flies. Looking back, fitty-plus years of working, commuting, family raising, trips to/fro Piggly, Wally, Doctor, Little league games, Back to School stuff, family goodies, weddings, celebrations, part-time 2nd jobs, mowing, weed eating, chasing, trying to clear up cloudy water in the pool, cooking, cleaning (VICTOR quit crying, SHE did all'a that.) Eh, OK, mosta it, but, shake and bake, I did help......... anyways, it really never seemed busy.
Retirement set in..... folks, folks already retired, would tellya, "I know it sounds crazy, but, time will fly... you'll find asking yourself 'where did all the hours in the day go'?" And it's twue, it's reawwy twue.
I awakened at 12:25am, did Wordle, back to zzzzzzzzz. I woke at 1:37am...... pppppppp, back to zzzzzzzz. I awoke at 2:40am, counted on my fingers, 1,2,3,4,5,6 hours sleep - "lay back down stupid." Did. HOLY CRAP, it's 6:23am, as in, damn near TEN hours sleep - ain't done that since........ well...... maybe since one'a the Bush's was in office.
Coffee... the Daily Sudoku (Mondays are cinchy)... Breezed thru local E-paper, the good stuff, no fingernail on the chalkboard, huh uh.
Exit, stage left to the blog. I dunno. 7-something am. And here I sit on my fat hiney, just now starting it. This retirement, blogging, is rough stuff, but somebody's gotta do it. WHO SAID SO VICTOR? Bite me.
I've got 23 'windows' open, 'lace' was an idea... lace for ballgloves, families, buddies, Facebook, the 'fence' that binds us together. Then I thought about 'handle'. Fly off the handle.. Too hot to handle.. Handle with care... Kid gloves... Get a handle on it.. Then, as a kinda-sorta cripple, I thought about the last time I pooped at Wally (sorry, kinda, not really) and how, I hadta use a stall without handles to assist in getting up and getting down because there was a 20-something able bodied person in the Handicap stall (please don't do do that) and so I had a BM (Bad Mood, you pervert).. and decided, nah, lace blog bad idea, and so is handle.
I thought about TEAR, which, can be pronounced like "TARE" which sounds too luch like Tar-iff, Nahhhhh.. or Tear, pronounced like Ear with a T in front.
Tears, are, can be, yummy. Yes, we all have the other kind, even those old codgers my age who profess "Nah, I don't, won't show my emotions like that." I call BS. I never saw my dad cry until he got Parkinsons, then he did finally, age late 70-something. Point being, 'twas in there all along, so you there blogreader, no try to fool me
HOMESTEAD RESCUE.
Huh? Yeah, it's a TV show. Victor? Tea/China? I dunno, find the amount, multiply it by 145% or something like that.
Tears. It has to do about tears. Homestead Rescue is a Discovery TV show where an actual Homesteader himself (and his son/daughter) go help other Homesteaders in need. They do amazing things. Clear land, build new roads, help with a well, or a paddlewheel pump kinda thing from a nearby stream to bring water to the house.. fences for critters, chicken houses for chickens...solutions for "Help.. we dunno what to do."
There was a show 3 years ago. A retired Firefighter and his wife. He'd fallen, had pins in his back, basically physical labor was a no no and impossible for him. NW Montana. Their home was 5 miles from a raging forest fire. WHAT NOW? Hundreds of trees TOO CLOSE made their home an easy mark for the fire. WHAT NOW? They again asked. Marty (the Homesteader who travels to help other homesteaders, said , "Turn around". Retired firefighter did, and there were....... holding 17 chainsaws, 17 former firefighter coworkers.That's where the tears, hugs, come in. In 7 days, they cleared land around the house.. had enough firewood for a few years of producing heat for Winter.. built a henhouse, storage for hay for the goats, and........ a secluded, ground floor handicap accessible 'indoor' deer stand on the sidea the hill for the retired dude. The firefighter and his wife, old farts like you me, had a niece who lived with them, and her young legs, good heart saved their bacon for the next few years.
Now....... forward 3 years... the niece has moved on to start her own homestead... they were outta firewood... it's a REAL chore for wifey to take a bale of hay 200 yards to their family of goats. And, water. No, water. Hot or cold.
Soooooooooooooooo. Firefighters come back? Nah, but, friends, families, neighbors did. Chainsaws in hand. A kajillion logs split, stacked, home heat for s'more years, a storage bin for the hay, MUCH closer to the goats, with an enclosed walkway to/fro the goats. And, a plumber dude figured out the water problem... fixed... AND... another plumber donated, put in a water heater.... they'd never had hot water and had been without water (except for what they hauled) for EIGHT years.
All, fixed. S'more tears. Before Marty and kiddos headed back to their own homestead, the ole fireman took em back down to the enclosed deer stand. "This is my therapy. This is where I get away when I need to, like if PTSD sets in. If a memory stirs like of the time I had to tell a mom after a fire her 13 year old wasn't coming back.... I come here. Of all the wonderful things you've done for us, this has been the most valuable to me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." Quite certain a warm shower was on tap for the guy after Marty left. It'd been 8 years.
S'more tears. It's now 10:51am, whereinthehell does time go?
All good, especially when preceeded with Happy Tears.
Happy tears to you............ love, Victurd
Happy tears, what better!
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