Odds and Eggs

Scurrying around searching in three cookbooks, I am attempting to find the recipe to boil eggs. Doesn't seem like it would be that hard of a task, but I've used three cookbooks before and one of the recipes turned out well. I would love to find that one again! Paul, working on the red checkered dining room table, is intently slamming thousands of tunes into his new laptop. In frustration with the endless search, I interrupt Paul. "Paul, how do you boil eggs?" He takes the question in stride, turns half way around, with an over the shoulder answer, "Boil 'em 'til one cracks."

This is the missing piece of information! Google in the next room. If I had only thought to ask earlier, quicker results could have been mine. Thirty minutes later, my fine brown eggs are looking good but still not cracking. Confident, I invoke the statute of limitations, and turn off the burner. Best boiled eggs I ever had, and they lasted for days.

Not red and white

Jan's house is up for sale now for the fifth year. To date, not a soul has ventured to check it out.

Brother Paul was completing some restoration work on January's ceiling. It looked pretty ragged from a regular viewer's point of view, even I knew something had to be repaired.

While Paul is on the job, he discovers a round oak table with classic bronze gears. Apparently, this classic table came from the Outpost. He is trying to convince me to take it back home so that it is saved from St. Vincent de Paul. In fact, he is pleading with me. "I'll restore it, this oak will shine, let me do it!" I say, "Ok, ok.... apparently, you have strong feelings in this matter."

When my wood-splitting task is done for the day, I head for Houghton Lake to look for a plastic, red and white checkered tablecloth to cover my table. The concept here is to re-enact a picnic in the kitchen everyday. It seems that even with the vast resources of Walmart, I am years too late. In the end, I stumble upon a black and red plastic tablecloth and am quite happy to pick it up for a song.

First Generation

Bill in his earlier days. Perhaps when he was still boxing. Firm 1G foundation.

Fishing Trip

My jaw dropped as he said it. "Archie, I want you to go down to Kmart and buy some gold fish." It was snowing outside the Bat Cave. Wm T. and I were roommates in Pontiac. This rather odd arrangement occurred as Hope thought it would be good for the family. Bill and I had just spent the afternoon at the kitchen table discussing "God, & Man & Law" along with a few beers to solidify the mix. The alcohol had convinced me that we had achieved parity. I was only nineteen, but I was paying half the rent and doing the other things dictated for my share.

William T. was taking a drag off his cigarette and glancing at the floor as he inhaled. With rhetorical flourish that continued the speculative nature of our earlier conversations, I said, "What if I don't do it?" Without even looking up, he said in a supremely calm voice, "Honey, I'll dazzle you with footwork." Instantly, my mind reeled back to the proper balance of father and son, and I replied with enthusiasm, "Yes, Sir!" . This predated Nike's famous dictum, "Just do it."

Hung Jury

In mulling over my acceptance reaction to jury duty, I am struck by several discordant notes in the "summons". It is riddled with threats. Phrases like, "contempt of court", "show cause", "mandatory" along with the final stinger, "appropriate dress is required". What is "appropriate dress" in Crawford County where protective service is the number one employer? Wm T. used to say, "You can't hang a man for his judgement", but I believe it happens everyday. The system doesn't even know me, yet they are treating me like a would be criminal. It seems they should meet me first before making that judgement. Our country has only four percent of the world's population, yet we have twenty-four percent of that population in jail. Perhaps something in our core culture needs to be examined and modified in our pursuit of "Justice."

Kayak

Walked away that day, convinced that I needed something different than a canoe. No sense pacing the driveway when you can navigate. Oh yes, it does include walking a bit. I drive my pickup to the bridge, walk back to the Outpost, then hit the river.

Birthday Party

The first day of summer might seem an odd day to have a January birthday, but that is the case. Perhaps stranger still is that we took a canoe trip. I bought a Chinese hat @ the Tractor Supply store. Now both of us have new lids. Her's reflected the garden, mine reflected a combination Australian-Chinese style that caught my fancy.

After breakfast in West Branch, we return and I commence to hook up the trailer . The ball on the hitch is rusty. The prerequisite swear words are ineffective to work their usual magic. With the sun beating down and my Chinese hat falling in my face, the hammer seems heavier than usual. I stop using it and just gerrymander the rigging.

When I Get back to launch the canoe, I discover that it has a hornet's nest attached to the bottom of the canoe. We insulate that little bugger, move on to launch.

The river is high, unusually high. We flip the canoe, half way toward Steckert Bridge. The trip was unexpected fun. Since it rained the next day, I am certainly glad that I didn't procrastinate on this trip.

Rain Relief

Many days of rain up here in the North. My clothes were on the line four days in a row, and still weren't dry. Yesterday, "Terrible beauty was born", and the sun was shining all day. Opportunity to cut the grass, dry all the clothes, and a number of other things that take daylight and warmth to complete.

The rising river flooded my basement and took out the water heater. I stand around now taking in the view realizing that I'm one lucky cat.

Nature's Vacuum

Ok, I hate to admit it, but after all this time I miss the telemarketers. I had my land line pulled, so the phone stopped ringing. No surprise there, but remains to collect my thoughts and spin 'em to the wind.

Beck 'n Call

Telemarketers use to be fun. When one of them called, my goal was to entertain myself and keep them on the phone as long as possible. Like a reverse inservice. If I was going to spend my time on the phone, then it seemed fair that some amusement should be my reward. My rationale was that if they were going to interrupt my day, then we should have a real conversation and make it worthwhile. Most of them were good sports and would apologize when they really had to get off the phone. I could then add one to the win column.

Once, I had an older lady in Florida put a curse on my septic tank, and slam down the phone on me. All is changed now with the introduction of robot computers. No resident sense of humor here. Mechanical noise masked as monologue. So... I guess the time has come not to be at "Beck 'n Call."