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| Though fishing was lousy, Thursday was beautiful |
July 12, 2013 – Friday
54 degrees/clear/calm
Pentoga Road
I awakened early this morning and lay in the dark listening
to some heavy breathing, snoring, snorting, and what sounded like a
six-year-old eating mashed potatoes soaked in gravy with his mouth open.
Sargie was immediately eliminated from the suspect list.
She’s a quiet sleeper and has immaculate table manners.
But Brutus was sleeping on the floor alongside our bed.
Honestly, I’ve raised hogs that were quieter. He was dreaming, running an unseen
race, then suddenly stopped, snorted, and flapped his bulldog jaws several
times. Just as quickly, all actions ceased and the pup emitted deep snores
interrupted with occasional scratching, sighs, and burping. At least I think it
was burping.
Thursday was a busy one here on Pentoga Road. I left for one
of my favorite lakes after Sargie pulled out of the drive for work. I might as
well have stayed home. There wasn’t a ripple on the lake and with the bright
sun beating down, the fish weren’t hitting. I trolled, cast, pitched flies,
used a bobber and worm… all to no avail. I caught one nice bass that was half-an-inch
under size and a large bluegill. Both were returned.
I was home before noon and started replacing the old transom
on the boat. The wood was rotten and the bolts so rusty they simply twisted
off.
I forsake using plywood for a piece of 2x8, something I hope
will last longer and be more sturdy. For certain, the back end of the boat
isn’t going anywhere. I replaced the original manufacturer’s plate and called
it all good enough.
By the way, that boat was manufactured in the late forties
or early fifties with the tractor, boat, trailer, and I about the same age. I
sometimes feel as though I’m running a center for senior equipment and its
owner.
The inner tubes for the ATV I ordered a few days ago arrived
in the mail. It’s been over thirty years since I broke a tire down by hand and
it’s not gotten any easier. During my young farming days, I even replaced inner
tubes in the large back tires of our tractor manually, but it’s been a few
decades.
I managed to break the bead of the tire from the rim by parking
the Blazer on top and pounding the surrounding rubber with a maul. Once that
was accomplished, it became a matter of prying and leverage.
The rim was covered inside with dried slim, the liquid goop
that one can squirt inside a tire in hopes of sealing a leak. I’ve heard that garage
owners, those who repair tires professionally, hate that stuff. I can see why.
It makes an adhesive that when dry, coats everything. I spent almost an hour
scraping, sanding, and grinding the rim clean.
The tube went in well and after coating the bead of the tire
with soapy water, pried it back in place, filled the thing with air, and
pronounced the tire repaired. I hope my cheap fix will last another year, at
least until the other half of my retirement income begins next June. Sooner or later,
I’ll have to purchase a new set of rubber for my four-wheeler. These are the
original tires and the machine will be thirty years old in two-and-a-half
years. I’d say they’ve served their purpose.
I spent well over an hour on the phone yesterday sparing
with a billing service that represents the radiology group who read the x-rays
of my knee. I’d received a statement saying my insurance company denied the claim.
There was also an application to set up monthly payments.
When I contacted my insurance company, they said there was
no record of any statement being submitted. I called the billing company and
when I finally got to talk to a real person and not a computer, it was
discovered they had the wrong address and the mailed statement had been
returned as “undeliverable as addressed.” Rather than contact me for the right
address, they lied and said the claim was denied. I
can tell this is going to be a long dance; more like a funeral dirge.
Brutus spent most the day either lying on the barn floor at
my feet or in the woods chasing squirrels and other creatures too wild and
ferocious to mention. Needless to say, the bulldog was filthy. He received a
shower last night under the garden hose. I’ve never seen a dog that likes to be
groomed as much as he does. He sits perfectly still during brushing and washing
and once, almost fell over after drifting off to sleep.
Sargie arrived home looking especially beautiful after her
beautician’s appointment. We spent the evening talking, watching television,
and reading the daily paper. I went to bed at 10, almost too tired to walk up
the stairs. Sargie followed later.
The knee continues to get noticeably better. Other than some
stiffness and an occasional painful twinge, it’s almost back to normal. It’ll
soon be time for Brutus and I to hit the trails… I hope.
Sargie works late today. Thankfully, she gets an extra
couple of hours sleep this morning as she doesn’t have to be at the Vision
Center until 11 AM. For me, after seven weeks of relative inactivity, there are
plenty of chores demanding my attention. After all, a man’s work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road…
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| While in the repair mode, the oars were glued and clamped. The lamination was beginning to pull apart. |
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