ETA for Cheeks is 9 AM CST Sunday morning

January 31, 2021 - Sunday morning

28 degrees/snow/wind

Madison, Wisconsin

In just over an hour, Sargie and I will welcome, from afar, our fourteenth grandchild. Mel is due to go deliver, C section, in Green Bay. 

Stay tuned, no doubt there'll be pictures and updates in tomorrow's writing.

Yooper Brother Mark and I went for our walk early Saturday morning. Naturally, on the day Sargie and I were to leave for Madison, we experienced an unexpected snowfall of several inches.

Sargie was ready to go by the time I arrived home. It was just a matter of closing up the back room and making sure everything was turned off.

Our five hour drive to Madison was, for the most part, pleasant. We ran in and out of snow and freezing rain along with slippery, but mostly dry road conditions. 

Sargie and I crooned along the way, sometimes to music playing through the radio, other times acapella. The five hour drive went by fast.

We even sang and recorded Happy Birthday to nephew Garth.

 

We navigated in and around the backside of Madison to avoid any city traffic. Driving on two lane county roads and down the main streets of tiny farming communities is our cup of tea.

The hotel is in a perfect location with the medical center right across the street.

Not bad, one stop shopping. I can get my eyes examined, have a face lift, and get my taxes done all in a single visit.

As can only happen with Divine Intervention, Costco is directly behind the hotel and a large outdoor mall is two blocks down the street.

Never one to let a good opportunity pass her by, we found ourselves at the mall last night where Sargie found a few items she couldn't live without. There'll be a new cement frog and turtle decorating the pond/garden this coming summer.

Last night was a lazy, but fun one. A huge, family sized pizza was ordered and delivered and we ate the entire thing.

It felt so good not to care if a storm was dumping inches and inches of snow outside our window. Sargie and I were tucked in safe and sound.

Let's see, in other family news, Mississippi Brother Garry sent a picture of his latest bowl. About the time I think I'm getting this turning thing down, I see his work and realize how much I have to learn.

So that's all from this end. We're anxiously waiting for the phone to ring and hear the news that the miracle of Cheeks has come to fruition.

Otherwise, I may sneak out to the parking lot and see if I can free the car from last night's snowfall. If not, we may end up walking over to Costco and purchasing a snow shovel before the day is over.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

January 30, 2021 - Saturday morning
16 degrees/partly cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

A person looks at the picture above and there's no doubt that God lives in the UP. Saturday morning's walk was so picturesque, pristine, so... perfect.  

Only one word comes to mind.

Heaven.

Yooper Brother Mark and I enjoyed the first of our usual Friday/Saturday morning strolls. The temperature was well below zero resulting in a mini snowfall as the condensation from our breath froze and fell, disappearing before it hit the ground.

I especially loved the crunching sound as we walked along, each step sounding similar to the croaking of a Louisiana swamp bullfrog.

The crunching/croaking was loud enough that it occasionally made conversation difficult.

A person with a wandering mind might say that it was the culinary equivalent to biting into a fresh cheese curd, one right out of the vat, the kind that squeaks with every chew.

If you live in Wisconsin or the UP, you know a squeaky cheese curd is a sure sign of freshness. It's difficult to explain, but trust me, there's not many foods better than a good, fresh, old fashioned,  Wisconsin cheese curd straight from the vat.

Mark and I crunched our way to the Brule River and back before bidding each other goodbye. He'll be back bright and early this morning when we'll repeat our trek all over again.

The rest of the day was spent doing maintenance, that of the worst kind.

Making phone calls.

They were ones that Sargie and I had put off for almost a month.

Verizon... oh, we're sorry, we must have made a mistake on your bill and here, let us adjust it. 

Yeah, a mistake to the tune of several hundred dollars a year.

Direct TV/ATT - This is the price of your subscription WITH the customer loyalty discount. I wish there was something we could do. Bye.

Grrr.

Believe me, once Elon Musk's Starlink Satellite service is activated, we'll be kissing Direct TV goodbye. We can watch all our favorite programs via internet for a small fraction of the price.

Speaking of internet, our satellite Hughesnet has deteriorated to almost next to nothing. A phone call to their tech department resulted in listening to multiple reasons why the degradation is entirely our fault. We tell them nothing's changed over the years on our end, but it falls on deaf ears.

Much of our internet service now comes from using my cell phone as a Hotspot. I'm on an unlimited data plan, so it works. Even having to run the data signal through a booster results in a faster, more reliable signal than Hughesnet. 

As with Direct TV, we're counting on Elon to bail us out with better internet service.

As long as we're talking on the phone, why not call Amazon. Arrangements were made for a UPS pick up from our front porch. All we had to do was print a shipping label and Amazon would handle the rest.

So that was our day, most of it listening to elevator music looping endlessly while holding for a customer service representative. 

With a winter storm dropping a potential four to eight inches of snow accompanied by a substantial wind, bearing down on southern Wisconsin, we've decided to leave a day early for Madison. The old Blazer, with its four wheel drive, is just not up for making a five hour journey, so we'll play it safe, take the Hyundai, and hopefully, arrive at our hotel before the storm arrives. 

Sunday will be a lazy one. There're all kinds of stores around our hotel, so no doubt, Sargie will be perusing the clearance tables with me in tow. 

I'll see the doctor first thing Monday morning and begin that process.

Oh, Mel and Macrea called yesterday and said it appears as though Baby Cheeks will enter the world sometime Sunday via C section. We told Mel to hold off until at least Tuesday when we hope to be back home.

With the Covid protocols, we won't get to see the baby until she comes home from Green Bay, but naturally, delivery will happen while we're away.

Time to wrap up here and finish packing before Mark arrives for our walk.

Speaking of wrapping, I FINALLY finished the last puzzle, a grandbaby Christmas present, and Sargie spent some time wrapping and making it ready to mail. 

Isn't there a song called the Thirty-four Days of Christmas?

 Enough foolishness. Time to get this day started.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

January 29, 2021 - Friday morning

-6 degrees/cloudy skies/breezy

Pentoga Road

The fifty percent of you who don't like the picture, don't write (your comments won't be published) and don't click your tongue in a superior sort of way. I don't belittle you, I simply don't agree with your politics. 

If you don't like what you see above, the answer is simple. Don't look. Duh.

Sargie gave me the cap for Christmas, but demand has been so high that it just arrived in yesterday's mail. Whether you agree with the cap or not, you have to admit, the guy wearing it is pretty ugly.

There, in true American spirit, we compromised and agreed on something. 

There's hope!

It's cold. I don't mind the minus zero temperatures, but it's the wind that makes life miserable. As I told Sargie, if we didn't have a grandbaby due at any moment, it would be a good time to take off for the south, make a drive by visit with Mississippi Brother Garry and Jody before heading even further south. 

We really enjoyed San Padre Island last year and have priced rooms there. We've talked of flying out to Las Vegas for a few days and doing nothing other than soaking up the heat. There are currently no shows happening and we don't gamble so it too, would be a drive through, enjoy the moment type of trip.

But to let you in on a little secret, what we've really talked about...

We're just going to take off one of these days with no destination in mind and drive. If Sargie wants to stop at an outlet mall and shop, that's what we'll do. A Bass Pro or REI for me? 

You bet, we'll stop.

If we end up in Key West, so be it, but we very well might land in Savanah or Brownsville or Albuquerque. 

As I've mentioned before, Sargie and I are a couple of loose canons just waiting for the right time. The only ingredient missing is that granddaughter, Cheeks. Oh well, she's due any day now.

Speaking of road trips, Sargie and I will be leaving later this weekend for Madison, WI, and the University of Wisconsin's School of Medicine. I have a Monday morning appointment with a high octane ophthalmologist to have my right eye prodded, poked, kicked, ripped, torn, and otherwise examined. Seems the darn thing doesn't want to work anymore. Having to do double the work, the left eye has been protesting by constantly tearing up and being lazy.

Darn eyes, they just don't make them like they used to.

Anyway, most of you have been with me during the early advanced macular degeneration years and the miraculous near infra red therapy that has given me an extra four years of near perfect sight, so I thought I'd share this latest happening. 

Stay tuned. I've lived on both sides of this coin and will accept whatever God has in store for me. 

Friday was a good one! I walked, we took our usual ride, and I happily played in the shop.

I've been emailing back and forth with my buddy, Gary from West Virginia. As mentioned earlier, Pokealong (his trail name) wants to hike the AT in 2022 and we're talking of starting together. My West Virginia buddy is a spring chicken, just like me. He'll turn 75 on the trail, I'll turn 70.

If you happen to be out there, you'll no doubt recognize us. We'll be the Grumpy Old Men.

The little vessel (it's not really a bowl or anything useful) was given a final coat, polished, and separated from the tenon. It's now sitting on the mantel where it will remain until Sargie asks what she's to do with it. (Every shelf and counter top in our home is covered with bowls and other near priceless treasures that originated in the shop.)

No doubt, it will permanently end up in someone else's home or in our wood stove. 

I finished sawing the crappie, or as Hambone says, "the crop." Next step will be to either apply a clear coat of poly or paint before painting the backer and permanently attaching the two.

Sargie barely beat me in a game of Rummy late yesterday afternoon. I was ahead right up to the end until she magically had a hand that produced two hundred points. 

I kiddingly accused her of cheating until she pointed out that I was the one who dealt the hand. Oops.

Talk about silly. After the game, we decided to play teeter totter. Two opposing people stretch their parted legs out flat against the floor while placing both feet against those of the opposite person. They then bend forward and hold hands before rocking forward and backwards, lifting the other person into the air. 

Well, that's how it's supposed to work. In our case, we could barely move and as for lifting the other person? Forget it.

It was such an easy game to play as a child. All we could do yesterday was laugh and it wasn't long before tears were running down our faces. 

Today looks to be much the same as every other. Yooper Brother Mark is coming out in a bit for our usual Friday/Saturday morning walk. It's become a tradition we both greatly enjoy.

No doubt there'll be a ride in our future and unless something comes up, I'll be out in the shop making priceless objects, reinventing the wheel, or taking a nap in my recliner. I'm guessing the third option might be the closest to the truth.

The world's my oyster. What can I say.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

 

Occasionally when I shuffle cards, things get a bit out of control. These ended up all over the living room floor.

Sunset over Crystal Lake in Iron Mountain

January 28, 2021 - Thursday morning

10 degrees/partly cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Brother-in-law, Ross, sent a picture of last night's sunset taken from the back deck of their home. Beautiful. Thanks Ross!

Whew, that was close. For whatever reason, I forgot to turn off the alarm earlier, one of the first things I do each morning. I was kneeling, cleaning the ashes from the wood stove, when I heard a faint clicking.

OMG! I had only seconds, mere moments, before the siren sounded resulting in shaking windows and more importantly, bringing Sargie out of bed upstairs. It has the same effect on the body as ice water splashed on a decayed tooth.

Minus murdering my wife and an ill fitting glove, OJ Simpson has nothing on me. I hurdled over the red chair, clearing it by inches, sprinted past the exercise bike, recovered from a slight slip with the potential of fracturing a hip on the laminated floor, rounded a corner, made a two legged jump over the threshold separating the hallway from the kitchen, and hurriedly punched in the secret code.

My shaking fingers missed the intended mark.

Click.... click.... click.... click....

Breathe Tom, breath. Think Lamaze. Get a focal point. Millions of mamas have babies every year.

In... out... in... out.... in... now gently exhale.

Oh for crying out loud, I wasn't having a baby. Only seconds left.

I summoned the inner me, commanded my fingers to be still, wondered what Bernie Sanders, donning mittens, would do in a moment of crisis like this one, and pushed a sequence of buttons. Suddenly a voice from the central control said,

"Alarm off."

Whew. 

I learned a few weeks ago that some brides have no sense of humor what-so-ever when aroused from a deep sleep by a burglar alarm blaring at 5 AM.

As always, if you had my life, you'd understand.

Wednesday was a good one. On her way to a dentist appointment, Sargie dropped me off at one end of the Alpha Tobin Mine Road, a very rural, winding, paved path, that connects Alpha to Crystal Falls.

The five mile jaunt took me past an old mining community, a couple of defunct iron mines, beaver dams, and this, a practical, yet beautiful, road ornament. 

Evidently the owner grew tired of having his mailbox mowed over by a marauding snow plow. Our's was flattened a year ago, but the county insisted on installing a new one. When one lives in the rural north country, he should plan on dealing with a series of rotating mailboxes. The frequency keeps us from getting bored with the old one.

I met Sargie in Crystal Falls. We made a big loop, got her Coke, then drove around a bit before coming back home.

An ice fisherman setting his "flags," tip-ups, on our local lake

I built a fire to warm the shop and spent the rest of the afternoon there. 

I see our back wood pile is quickly diminishing. If my calculations are correct, we should be in good shape for not only heating, but also to boil hundreds of gallons of sap for the upcoming maple syrup season.

Several coats of poly were applied to the small piece mounted in the lathe. With the chilly temperatures in the shop, drying time between applications is much longer than usual.

I hope to apply the last coat(s) today, separate the bowl from the tenon, and call it "good 'nuff."

Most of yesterday's labor went into the crappie scroll saw piece. I've done a bit each day, but it's time to get it finished and out of the way. Another hour of sawing, two for sanding, finish work, and mounting, and the crappie should be swimming away from Pentoga road to his new home.

Late afternoon found Sargie pummeling me senselessly into submission while playing Rummy. I had the lead for a short while, but just like the horse who found the only gopher hole in the race track of life, I stumbled and was soundly defeated.

It's no wonder she wins. The girl's using performance enhancing supplements. If you don't believe me, check out that bag of chocolates behind her.

It's almost daylight, time for my morning stroll. Unless Sargie Pants has other plans, today looks to be much the same as yesterday. It's a comfortable mid winter routine we've grown accustomed to. 

I wonder what the poor folks are doing?

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Isabella received the Ranger Award for excellence at her school in Wyoming and with it, the official Ranger Hat. 

Giddy up cowgirl! 

Seems to me that Grandpa Yooper Brother Mark could get one that matches. You know, do some Grandpa/Isabella bonding.

With a full moon due on the 28th, Tuesday evening ended clear and cold

January 27, 2021 - Wednesday morning

9 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

This morning's routine is a bit different than usual as Sargie has a 10 AM appointment to get her tooth cleaned. I'll wait and ride with her a few miles down the road before walking back home. It will be nice to have a change of scenery.

Tuesday was fairly routine. The walk to Pentoga was a good one. As most know, I'm test driving any and everything I anticipate I'll need for cold weather walking through the Appalachians next February. Yesterday's test was a puffy jacket that I've absolutely fallen in love with. A Christmas gift from Sargie, it's lightweight, can be stuffed into a very small space, and best of all, it's extremely warm.

I was walking straight into a stiff wind from Pentoga Village yesterday and went to secure the hood more tightly around my face. What? No strings?

My perfect jacket has no hood adjustment. It wasn't a big deal yesterday, but could be if I were on top of a 4,000 foot mountain a year from February trekking through snow and battling a thirty mph head wind. As it is now, there's no way to keep the cold from pouring down my frontside.

Sargie knows a professional seamstress who we'll contact to see about adding the string adjustment to the hood. After that, it should be perfect.

I started a fire in the outside stove before we left for Sargie's Coke. Returning home to a warm shop, I played out there for the rest of the day.

First came an hour of maintenance. One of my least favorite tasks is changing a saw blade of any kind. It seems to always result in skinned knuckles while loosening an overly tightened nut.

Yesterday was no exception. I've used butter knives that were sharper than the blade on the table saw.

It took some real persuasion to finally coax the nut to move, but it finally decided to cooperate. Putting on the new blade was quick and simple.

 

Lately, I've been playing with scroll saw pieces, prayers, bulldogs, crappies, spalted bowls, segments, lamination, and other things. What I really wanted to do yesterday was turn back time, back to the days when I had the small lathe and enjoyed turning anything that remotely resembled wood. I well remember how fascinated I was that a person could take an ordinary stick or limb or chunk of firewood and make it into something beautiful.

That's what I wanted to do Tuesday afternoon.

I ventured out into the woods and spotted a limb, a stick really, from a dead maple tree. Sizing and inspecting it for cracks or rot, I cut a small section and brought it back to the shop.

Hmm, it was really dead and shouldn't crack. The grain looked promising.

Why not?

I was almost gleeful as the small piece of wood, something that under ordinary circumstances, wouldn't even make it into the wood shed, spun round and round in front of me. I was touching, feeling, watching, the medium I love working with the most, good, old fashioned, wood.

I wonder if I was a wood worker of some sort in a former life? 

A carpenter? Probably not. If so, those skills sure weren't passed down.

Perhaps a logger. That's a distinct possibility. Give me the woods and water and I forget about the rest of humanity.

An artisan. Ah, now there's a romantic thought. No doubt I gently carved wooden sculptures for royalty while humming the classics along the River Seine.

Barf.

I got it! I bet I owned a firewood processing plant and made millions supplying a heat source to city people. 

Hmm.

C'mon Walter Mitty, get your mind back to writing here.

The wood was spinning and I let the different chisels map their own courses. 

Straight sides? Possibly sharp lines, something that resembled a terraced hillside. Maybe curves?

In the end, the terraced look with a broader base won.

I sanded it all, both inside and out, starting with a large, course, grit, finally ending with sandpaper that felt more like a baby's bottom than anything abrasive.

It was time to apply the first of many coats of finish.

It takes between fifteen and twenty applications, sometimes requiring a light sanding or polishing between, to achieve a thick, glossy, look. Three coats were applied yesterday afternoon and last evening. The rest will be applied over the next day or two.

I was tapping the lid back on the can containing the poly when I felt one side begin to buckle. Oh no, the lid would no longer fit tightly and what remained would, no doubt, dry out.

The finish I like best is no ordinary poly. It's a very expensive food safe variety that should be sold by the drop rather than the quart. We don't let this stuff go to waste.

What to do... what to do.

I'm going to brag a bit here, so buckle in.

It's hard to remain humble when a person hits on all deep thought cylinders two days in a row. First it was the Pentoga Road radio antenna and now, the Pentoga Road Easy Seal Lid!

Once again, if anyone wants the instructions to my new, vinyl, easy seal lid, send $19.99 and I'll not only jot them down on the closest piece of paper, I'll even include a free vinyl glove! 

BUT WAIT! Take advantage of this time tested offer within the next ten minutes and I'll include TWO vinyl gloves, shipping and handling extra.

I heard noise outside the shop. The UPS man?

Not hardly. It was my Sargie Pants carrying in wood. I've admonished her more than once, saying I'm happy to fill the wood box, but she claims to enjoy getting the exercise and fresh air.

Who am I to interrupt the love of my life's daily pleasures?

Last night was a wild one. Wearing our nighttime jammies and wrapped in blankets, we filled the time by watching television. I strayed a bit and viewed a few hiking and turning videos on youtube. 

Everyone knows you can't tame a wild stallion.

Sargie has her mid morning appointment today and I'm looking forward to trekking the few extra miles. No doubt, in an attempt to be creative, I'll be back in the shop after. 

Time to wake Sargie and get her day started. The girl has a big morning ahead, getting her tooth cleaned.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

A big 15th Happy Birthday goes out to our niece, Abby June Bug, down in Laurel, Mississippi. (Check out that beautiful strawberry cake Miss Jody made her granddaughter.)

January 26th, 2021 - Tuesday morning
12 degrees/partly cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

It's hard to believe Abby's growing up so quickly. I remember when she was just a little thing, bee bopping and y'all'ing all over the place, just cute as can be. She still y'all's and bee bops, but little Abby June Bug has grown into a beautiful young woman. I'm going to get Mississippi Brother Garry to put a fifty pound cement block on his granddaughter's head to keep her from growing up so fast.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. Aunt Sargie and I love you.

Moving on...

I'm in mourning. An important part of my life died, well, wore out, the day before yesterday. It was my belt, the kind that straps around one's waist.

I'd never had a really good belt until this one was purchased almost forty years ago. With four young boys at home, money was a scarce commodity. The boys' mother was a stay at home mom, I was teaching school for a whoppin' $7,000 a year and played in a band on the weekends to help pay the bills. 

My previous "plether" belt, an imitation leather strap made from plastic that I'd worn since high school, had finally cracked and worn out. It was time for a new one.

I think we paid $5 dollars for my new belt. Made from real leather, I remember standing in front of the rack debating if it was worth spending the big bucks. 

The rest is history.

The belt was worn as I educated thousands of munchkins over the years. It was used to help strap in supplies in our old pickup, keeping them from falling out as we bumped along some very remote roads in the big woods of Maine. It even assisted once in securing a canoe riding on top of the truck when a strap broke during one trip.

My belt went to Alaska with me, traveling, flying, and boating, to the most remote villages in the state. 

Where I went, so did the belt.

I once wrapped it around the leg of a large moose I was dressing out, the other end fastened to my snowmobile, as I repositioned the thousand pound animal from its side onto its back. In later years, the belt made a stringer and was jammed through the gills of a giant halibut and used to tow it back to land.

When coming across a desperate fellow, an Inupiaq Eskimo, that had come close to cutting his leg off with a chain saw, the belt served as a life saving tourniquet. 

But best of all, my beloved, real leather, forty year old belt, kept my drawers from falling down around my ankles.

I was fastening my pants the other day, cinching it tighter, when I felt the leather let go. After nearly half a century, the buckle had worn through the strapping. Its days of waistline usefulness had drawn to a close.

I know I should just throw the belt away, but I can't and will be stored somewhere in the shop. No doubt, when the time comes after I'm gone, my sons will be going through my things, come across the piece of leather and wonder why in the world their father would keep such a thing.

It's dumb to mourn something so mundane as a simple belt, but when I wrap what's left of it around my hand, I not only see, but can almost feel the past, four little boys, memorable times at the camp in northern Maine, giant moose and halibut, and hundreds of journeys across the entire state of Alaska.

You see, I can't throw it away. In that worn out strap of leather lie countless memories of my sons, my journeys, my life.

On another note:

Monday dawned clear and cold.

After seeing Sargie off to Foster City, I made my way for an early morning appointment to get my tooth cleaned. There to meet me were my BFF's, Brenda, Dana, and Makhayla. 

At the door, going back to the examining room, was Brittany, who spent the next half hour with her hands in my mouth.

After being given a clean bill of oral health by Eric, the boy dentist, I was on my way home for a day in the shop.

Radio reception in the shop has been iffy and I wanted to listen to Telephone Time on our local station. It's Iron River's buy/shop/trade/gossip morning show that, if nothing else, supplies good background noise.

I moved the antenna wire this way and that to no avail. 

What to do. Hmm.

It was during some of my deepest moments of professorial thought that I came up with the perfect solution. I constructed my own antenna. After some experimenting, it worked great.

Should anyone want the detailed plans, send $19.99 plus shipping and handling to Pentoga Road and I'll see if I can draw pictures of the large hose clamp, hook, and wire, on a spare piece of paper. 

I gave my new segment sled a test run using a newly constructed "stop" that regulates how long the segments will be.

I made twelve of them in well under a minute, all perfect and exact.

The next time the sled is put into action, it won't be with wood scraps for practice. It's time to use real material, in this case it will be mahogany and oak.

In other shop news:

You know, my mama didn't have no very bright boy. I was using the air nailer, shooting brads while fastening two boards together when I shot a brad into my thumb.

I have lectured, nonstop, to Hambone about safety in the shop (not that he's allowed near any power equipment or nailers) but look who took his mind and eyes off his work for just a second, Ol' Pawpaw.

Thankfully, I was able to yank the brad from my thumb, stem the bleeding, do some major cussing, slap a big ol' gob of anti germ stuff on the hole, wrap a dozen bandaids around it, and go back to work.

It's swollen and red this morning, but I'll live.

I went for a late afternoon walk on Monday and eventually met Sargie on her way back from Foster City. Since it was "milk day" when our local grocery has milk for $1.99 a gallon, we went on to town to pick up our weekly supply of moo juice.

The phone rang. It was Hambone checking in. We had a wonderful conversation on Facetime while sitting in the parking lot before going into the grocery store.

Today looks to be a quiet one on Pentoga Road. I'm heading out the door at first light for my morning walk. After that, I'll throw caution to the wind, except for driving a brad into my thumb, and meet head on, whatever the day has to offer.

I'm just that kind of out of control guy.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Our local brewery in Alpha has figured out how to beat our psycho governor's ban on indoor dining. They've erected heated "igloos" where one can sit outdoors while enjoying a bite to eat along with a cold one.