My friend, Eileen, saw this on the internet and sent it along. A bit of humor from our old stomping grounds in Madawaska, Maine.

February 21, 2019 - Thursday
24 degrees/cloudy/snow flurries
Pentoga Road

Holy cow, I'm lazy this morning. Sargie stayed with Ross and Holly last night in Iron Mountain and since I'm here by myself, I can only be described as lazy. The snow that needs to be removed from the drive isn't going anywhere, Sargie's not here to see off to work, and I'm not substitute teaching today. 

Yesterday began as usual, with a healthy four-and-a-half mile hike. The snow had yet to begin and I picked 'em up and put 'em down. 

I'm amazed at how my body is changing in my more senior years. Let me carry anything that weighs more than a few pounds and I breathe like an old man. Sealed jars that used to be easy to open often become major projects and shoveling snow requires about all the energy I can muster.

Yet, give me a pair of hiking boots and point me in a certain direction and I have no problem putting the miles under my feet. I especially pride myself on trudging up and down steep hills without having to pause or even slow down.



That tells me one thing. If I have any hope of doing a through hike on the Appalachian Trail in the future, I better work on my core strength so I'm able to carry twenty to twenty five pounds on my back. The legs, heart, and lungs, seem to be in good shape. It's my saggy old man upper body that's fading into the sunset.

With snow pounding from the heavens, I spent most of Wednesday in the shop. Finishing touches were applied to Chief the Dog, a couple of hickory boards were run through the planer and laminated, but my main project, a birch bowl, consumed most of my time.

I was turning great guns. Just one more turn, a bit more off the side. 

Yeah, guess how that turned out.



Mama would have definitely washed my mouth out with soap had she been within hearing distance.

Disgusted with myself, I turned out the lights and walked away. As I often say, some days are diamonds, some days are coal. 

Yesterday, at least in the shop, I mined coal.

The rest of the day was spent binge watching a mini series, Mars, on Netflix. It was an interesting combination of past space flight history, current business relations of space flight between industry and NASA, and a realistic, but fictional, drama of how the first Mars colony might be settled. 

I gave it my official George Jetson/Roger Ramjet/Buck Roger's approval and hated to see the last episode end.

I was bored last evening. My best friend and bride, Sargie, wasn't here and I didn't really want to wade through the snow and go back out to the shop. It was dark and cold out there and the boogie man could be hiding around any corner.

Hmm, the kitchen. Why not make some kitchen magic?

Ah, homemade tortilla soup sounded good. Since Sargie isn't into spices of any kind and doesn't like any food stronger than hot chocolate, I let my need-for-heat taste buds be my guide. 

A little bit of Mexican soup starter, tomatoes, beans, jalapeños peppers, red pepper, a bit of this, some of that. How about some chili powder? Oh yeah. Ah, tabasco sauce. Mmm. 

Then to top it off, shredded Mexican cheese and a big ol' dollop of sour cream was added. 



Good? Mere words can't describe the joy my palate experienced as I slurped spoon after spoon of my homemade kitchen magic. 

Tommy P ate like a king last night. In fact, it was so delicious he went back for seconds, then thirds.

The same Tommy P has sat on the not-so-royal throne several times since, wondering why in the world he would ever mix and eat such a gawd-awful concoction. 

I swore during my last royal visit that I will never ever never eat anything stronger than hot chocolate again, at least not until the next time. 

Sargie opens this morning and should be home early this evening. I'm going to get this uploaded, put on my big boy boots and heavies, and start cleaning the drive and deck of the mounds of snow that fell yesterday. After, I'll be in the shop, see if I can mine some diamonds today.

Whoops, my tummy's telling me I may have to make one last royal visit before exiting the palace.

S'cuse me.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...