The Most Sincere Pumpkin Patch

Charlie Brown's friend Linus famously sought the most sincere pumpkin patch in the world to wait for the Great Pumpkin. Guess what, Linus? I've found it.

This is me brother Patrick's pumpkin patch, lovingly set out every October for Halloween. I think I would like to spend the night in it, as I'm certain it's the one within which the Great Pumpkin will alight. Yet as a 64 year-old man with sinus issues and an aversion to being committed, I think I'll pass. 

I hope the Great Pumpkin forgives me. And that he forgivingly brings my gifts down the block.

For Starters

You the nicest thing about towing a van to a mechanic? Driving it home when it's fixed.

The new old van which me brother Phil helped me tow to the garage yesterday needed a starter. I expected that, based on how it had acted. It hit me for $348 and some change, which honestly wasn't as bad as I expected. I thought it would be five hundred or so.

So, a good deal. Still, there's that part of me who thinks I should have tried to do it myself. I have before taken on some fairly major repairs. I had an old Pinto station wagon which need a rear main oil seal. I had never replaced anything like that before, yet I didn't think twice about it. I took it into the old barn and yanked that engine, which had to come all the way out, and replaced that seal. No biggie.

I've replaced engine heads and head gaskets on cars, even transmissions. Exhaust systems? Oh yeah. Even brakes, and I'm talking shoe brakes, not disc. One false move putting a spring on a shoe brake and it will fly across the Shop, as feared a projectile as if fired from a cannon. And I'm here to tell about it. Don't ask about Cloyce.

Brake pads and rotors I will still do. They're one of the few things on cars that honestly have become easier to fix. 

So anyway, what does that replaced starter mean on my new old van? Only that it's going on a 600 mile round trip tomorrow to deliver machines. I didn't have that old Chrysler fixed not to drive it. It could still make an appearance in Hessel sometime in 2025.

Lost Art

This morning, with the help of me brother Phil, we towed me new old van with me newer older van to the mechanic about a mile and a half away. We used a simple tow rope. We've done it before, and much more spectacularly. 

The trick is coordination. The lead car decides when to stop, when to proceed, and controls the timing. The towed car keeps the rope taut. For example, I drove the newer older van while Phil guided the new old van. While on 14th Street I purposely slowed us down to stay in between traffic lights so that we'd make the greens and avoid the reds; we wouldn't have to stop entirely any more than we had too. At the same time Phil would apply brakes to affect a drag on my 'pull' vehicle. We managed it with a minimum of jerking either van. Consequently, the tow was smooth.

We kept to the side so as not to impede traffic. Indeed, we use sparely travelled streets when we tow for that same reason. You should be considerate of others.

Granted, it doesn't always work well. Ask Zeke. But if you pay attention, cars can be safely towed with ropes. It's just a dying art. But we Cosgriffs do what we can to keep it in vogue.

And So It Begins

Today is the day. Today after work I don me curling wardrobe and begin throwin' them stones. Curling starts for the 2024-2025 season. 

We have a new arena with new icemakers. It will be interesting early on because of that. And yes, there is such a thing as curling ice, which is different than hockey ice, which is different than figure skating ice. All ice ain't the same, folks.

Am I ready? Mentally, yes. It's always great to see friends you haven't seen in seven months because the only real contact you have with them is curling. Opening Night means all the joy of that fraternity coming back to the fore.

Physically? Oh, boy. That question will answer itself. I've actually been doing what I'll call light calisthenics for a bit more upper body strength, and I still walk 45 minutes most mornings, 5 or 6 days a week generally. I might actually lose a few pounds if I were to watch what I eat, but who wants to do that? Be all that as it may, I am expecting at least mild soreness in the morning.

But it will be because of curling. I think I can deal with that.

Lonely roads

I see it from a couple miles away, every time I'm heading down US 68 towards Electric Eel in the wee hours before the dawn. It stands out as it is illuminated by a bright light; you cannot miss it sitting starkly to the side of the road. The four windows facing me on the square, white frame house seem to stare at my approach. The image is positively eerie and now etched in my mind. It makes Route 68 feel like one very lonely road.

68 is not the only lonely road I've come to know. Interstate 71 between Cincinnati, Ohio and Louisville, Kentucky is one long, isolated highway even in the daytime. At night there are stretches where you feel like the only soul on Earth as the freeway winds around mountains and through valleys. 

The 402 in Ontario, Canada is especially bad at night. It's long and straight and goes on forever with hardly any light between Sarnia and London. The Big Mac between Michigan's Upper and Lower peninsulas is absolutely desolate at two in the morning. At its crest you feel more alone than on I-71.

US 24 between Fort Wayne, Indiana and Toledo, Ohio is the loneliest daytime road I know. Even in bright sunlight there's nothing there as you cruise through northwest Ohio. There aren't even the gas stations and truck stops which are generally found near the exits of American superhighways. At least, not once you clear the Love's right inside the Indiana line. The stretch of road is about 80 miles but it always seems to take me forever to cut across it. I only use it because it's the most direct route home for me from Indianapolis, so I know the feeling is psychological. Still, it's quiet. Too quiet.

I haven't been in Wyoming or Nevada, where signs warning of no gas for 100 miles exist, but I can imagine there's many a lonely lane there. But we have ours here in our part of the world. My driving experience attests to that.

Slap-happy Amos

Amos was one of me Grandpa Joe's good friends. I know I've spoken about him before: he's the gent who would always stop by and shake my ten year old hand as he shuffled along to visit me grandparents. One of me Pops favorite tales about him is as follows.

Amos had once owned and maintained an apartment building. He was in his fifties, maybe sixties, at the time. Anyway, at one point he had a tenant who was notorious for getting loud and obnoxious, arguing with his wife, and generally causing trouble. Amos threatened several times to throw him out if he didn't behave himself.

One afternoon Amos was dealing with a plumbing repair on the old building, carrying a ten inch pipe wrench. He was on a landing of a stairwell between floors when he heard the loudmouthed renter yelling at his wife. The next instant the man burst out of his apartment on the floor above Amos, screaming vitriol at his old lady. Amos ordered him to calm down. "What are you gonna do about it, old man?" he demanded loudly. Then he leaped at Amos.

Amos swung the wrench and cracked the guy on the side of his head. Stepping to his left, Amos smacked the other side of the guy's skull as he flew past onto the bottom landing. The fella crashed into a heap.

A woman in a lower floor apartment looked out and, seeing the trouble, grabbed some towels and bandages to attend to the profusely bleeding attacker. "What happened?" she asked incredulously.

"He called me an old man, so I slapped him," Amos explained. He then went about his business.

And whether he moved out or became a better man, Amos had no more trouble with the bad renter.

The Story Stays the Same

I heard something from Ron the other day which I never expected to hear. After four holes of golf he remarked, "Huh. You and I are tied."

Wow. I was still in the game after four holes played.

Of course, a full round of golf is 18 holes. Things soon returned to normal. The Earth resumed spinning on its axis, and the angelic choir went for lunch. The New York Yankees took control of the Chicago White Sox and that was that. 

Ah well. It was still a day out of the office. Beautiful golf course too.