No doubt, after having his mailbox destroyed by a passing snowplow this past winter, a neighbor came up with a rather novel solution. 

May 4, 2021 - Tuesday morning
40 degrees/cloudy/windy
Pentoga Road

I was up too early this morning. Rather than lay in bed, too excited to sleep while thinking about mounting the newly modified engine on the backhoe, I decided it was easier to get up and begin the day. Problem was, the clock was showing 3:30. 

Rising so early makes for a mighty long day. 

Before I get started on Monday's nonstop activites on Pentoga Road, I've received several family pictures which I'm proud to post.

First off, our great niece, Brielle, received her first communion last Sunday. 

It's hard to believe Brielle is growing up so fast.

Further to the north, North Dickinson High School held its prom this past weekend where great nephew Max was crowned Prince. 

It was also great niece, Maggie's, first prom. Talk about growing up too fast. I remember when both Max and Maggie were mere rug rats. 

Of course, what would a prom be without a proud grandparent or two?

Trish, Max, Uncle Donnie, Maggie

Closer to home, Sargie dropped me off several miles down the road Monday morning on her way to the dentist. Visibility was poor in some areas and I was occasionally rained on. Thankfully, I didn't melt.

Sargie and I arrived back on Pentoga Road at about the same time. She was happy to report a good check up and cleaning.

Mechanic Dave texted and said the backhoe engine was finished. We hopped in the car and drove to the plant where Dave reminded me to make sure I filled the new engine with oil before attempting to start it.

I was tempted to say, "Thanks, Dad, I won't forget."

Too rainy to play outdoor mechanic, we began stripping Grandma Reinhardt's dining room chairs. The material and new padding had been purchased several weeks ago and Sargie's been anxious to get the chairs recovered.

Take a walk with me if you would.

I'm not sure how I inherited the dining room table, chairs, and hutch. It endured countless holiday meals as we gathered as a family, much like the Milligan's do today, and later, used sparingly while the Pennington boys were growing up. It sat in our dining room, the only really nice piece of furniture we owned.

To sit at Grandma and Grandpa's Reinhardt's holiday dining room table was a mark of adulthood that separated the adults from the munchkins. 

Setting her good china on the table with umpteen leaves inserted, it was used only on the holidays and then, only by the big people. My sister, cousins, and I, were relegated to the surrounding card tables with either a plastic drop cloth, newspaper, or both, protecting the underlying carpet. 

Grandma didn't adhere to the adage of "don't cry over spilled milk".

I well remember when my sister, Barb, left the rest of us behind as she was deemed old enough to sit at the dining room table. My cousins and I watched with envy as she took her place with Grandma and Grandpa, Mom and Dad, and all the aunts and uncles.

A couple more years passed and I was finally promoted to the big persons' table. I think it was my first year at the university. 

Actually I was ten or twelve years old and it was  Thanksgiving Day. I tried to hide my excitement as I walked nonchalantly to my designated seat between Mom and Dad and tried to act all grown up. That's what those who sat at the big people table did.

Unfortunately, I quickly discovered what big people don't do.

There I was, wedged between Mom and Dad, being reminded to use my cloth napkin, not my shirt sleeve, sitting at the grown up table, the table with umpteen leaves that had no newspaper or drop cloth underneath.

I remember reaching for a roll and the next thing I knew, my glass of milk had spilled onto the platter of sliced turkey. 

I tried putting a positive spin on the mess by reminding the surrounding big people to not cry over spilled milk. 

Yeah, you try telling that to Grandma Reinhardt and see where it gets you.

Sometimes being a big person isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Meanwhile, back to Monday's action; I wasn't surprised to see that after stripping the first seat cover, the plywood, over seventy years old, was cracked and brittle. I told Sargie the best thing we could do was purchase a sheet of new 1/2 inch plywood and I'd saw new seats to fit.

A trip to the lumber yard almost gave me a heart attack. One sheet of half inch plywood cost seventy one dollars. I about ... well, you know.

After telling the clerk the cost was way out of my league, we returned home. Thankfully, my lumber hoarding ways have paid off. I found enough scrap from which to cut the seats.

Meanwhile, Sargie was busy cutting the material. 

She had purchased some new foam to add to the padding and after being trimmed, fit perfectly.

It took the rest of the afternoon to nip and tuck, staple and hammer.

In the end, Sargie had the seats recovered and matching the new colors of the dining room.

Old on the left, new on the right

Now all that remains to be done is to take the chair frames apart, clean the joints, and glue everything back together. Over the years, the winter air has taken its toll, drying out the wood and making them somewhat wobbly.

Look who came to help me feed the goldfish Monday afternoon! It's Jambo's granddaughter, Elise, who brought her mama and daddy with.

Initially shy, after flinging a handful or two of fish food and discovering some "magic rocks" to pitch into the water, she gave her Uncle Tom a big ol' hug.

The pond once again paid for itself in spades.

Elise promised she'd come back to visit this summer, play in the sand, and swim with the goldfish. 

I think that's about all the news from Pentoga Road for one day. I'm going to head out the door for my morning walk before mounting the new engine onto the backhoe. No rain is forecast for the next several days, so hopefully, I can get some meaningful yard work done. The first task for the backhoe is to dig out two tree stumps.

After all, a man's work and that of his machinery, is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...