What happens when a trampoline isn't put away for the winter months

February 9, 2014 – Sunday

-14 degrees/cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

I awakened at 3:45 AM listening to Brutus, who was lying on the floor at the foot of our bed, giving himself a bath. Once the cobwebs had cleared from between my ears, I got up and came downstairs to fill the stove with wood, visited the bathroom, then promptly went back to bed.

Lick, lick, lick. Brutus was persistent. Minutes ticked by… lick, lick, lick, lick. I finally got out of bed, turned on the light, played bedroom veterinarian, and saw that there was a sore spot on his groin that he was cleaning.

I returned to bed and lay for several more minutes listening, then began worrying. It’s the same place that was treated last summer, an area where he’d rammed a stick into his groin and had become infected. An expensive trip to the veterinarian’s, along with an antibiotic, finally cured what ailed him. I finally gave up on any thought of sleep, got dressed, and came downstairs.

In retrospect, it’s a good thing it all happened as it did. Evidently, I’d not firmly latched the door to the stove after earlier adding wood. A flaming log fell to the front and pushed the door wide open, resulting in a large number of coals falling onto the hearth. I doubt it would have caused a fire, as I made the hearth oversized (for that very reason) but it could have been a smoky mess. The coals were hurriedly scooped up and thrown back into the stove.

An old farmstead

Page Two

I just finished reading an email from a good friend whose fifteen year-old grandson got into some kind of trouble with his parents; nothing serious, just being a fifteen year-old boy.

Ah, that stage of all young boys’ lives, when puberty rears it’s ugly head, hormones begin to flow, pimples sprout, one’s voice changes, and a male’s body, mind, and soul, are all driven by some misunderstood and invisible force. It’s the stage of life when a growing boy goes into rut.

I’ve spent some time thinking deep, professorial, thoughts about this subject and being a man of academia from the far North, have arrived at the conclusion that pubescent boys and bull moose have some troubling similarities.

* both are gangly and can be quite ugly

* communication is reduced down to a series of grunts and gestures

* there's a serious reduction of intelligence

* they spend their waking hours in a lust-filled daze

* all are driven by some unseen evil force

I’ve been witness to several bull moose who are in rut. They are quick to anger and each believes he should be the alpha male in his neck of the woods, to prance around in a lust-filled fantasy world, looking for anything to attack and a woman moose to call his own. Failing to find an instantaneous suitable mate, he’ll simply rip something to shreds in a rage of sexual fury.

I almost became shredded years ago when a bull, maddened by Casey, my Jack Russell Terrier, charged and was stopped only by the sound of repeated shots from my pistol being fired into the air.

It wasn’t that long ago that a moose in northern Maine demolished a semi tractor in an attempt to court, woo, and possess the thing. When the vehicle failed to properly respond to the moose’s gestures of adoration, mirrors were ripped off, the doors severely damaged, and in the end, the entire tractor was covered with moose slobber and goo.

In Anchorage, Alaska, there was a bull moose in rut that turned his amorous attentions to a Volkswagen Beetle. In fact, he found the mini car so irresistible that he attempted to make Moosewagens. To my knowledge, the chromosomes didn’t match resulting in a very dented, badly mutilated, VW.

I remember when I entered rut. Thankfully, I wasn’t attracted to Volkswagens or semi tractors, but because of some unseen, powerful, force, I was mad and powerful and all knowing; and what I knew was that I wanted to lift weights, play football, and impress girls… mostly impress girls. Anything else was secondary. I spent an inordinate amount of hours preening in front of the bathroom mirror and was obsessed when a new pimple joined the thousands of others in calling my face home. In fact, I’m certain Clearasil stock soared when I reached puberty.

Then there was Dad. How could any man become so incredibly stupid in such a short while? I spent hours wondering how he had managed so far in life, being so bumbling and unfair, and thank God, he was privileged enough to have me as a son, the Chosen One, who might be able to lead him from his follies and show him the right direction. After all, it was the least I could do. He was my dad, right?

Sometime during rut, my friends and I forgot how to talk. Full sentences became a series of grunts and gestures and no mirror was passed without a flex of one’s muscles. Displays of strength became the norm and good-natured wrestling often escalated into not-so-good-natured grudge matches in an attempt to show one’s superiority.

Thankfully, the day came when my rut ended. I once again remembered how to speak in full sentences, Dad suddenly became intelligent, and my pimples went away.

It doesn’t seem that long ago that my sons entered that stage of life, human rut, when they too became mad, forgot how to speak in full sentences, and I became incredibly stupid and unfair. In an attempt to remain Captain of the family vessel, I took a firm stance with each as he dealt with that powerful and unseen force of nature. To paraphrase Dickens, “They were the best of times and the worst of times,” but all of us, my four sons, their mother, and I, emerged from that stage of their lives in good shape.

So when I hear of other families with a teenage son who is in that phase of growing up, I simply smile, close my eyes, and thank God it’s them and not me who has the pleasure of navigating those choppy waters of puberty. The mere act of survival allows one to appreciate the rest of his life that much more.

Page Three

Saturday was beautiful, but cold, in the North Woods. After writing yesterday’s log, I set out on my five-mile stroll and enjoyed each and every step. Towards the end, I ran into our neighbors, who were also walking, and we had a half hour social session in the middle of Pentoga Road. Sargie and I aren’t the only ones who are finding this winter a bit long and cold.

The local beach is pretty quiet these days

We took our usual ride into town, ran an errand or two, and enjoyed a tour through the countryside. After, we played fetch with Brutus for almost an hour, worked up the nightly supply of wood, and filled the bird feeders.

Last night was spent watching a movie while munching popcorn. We both enjoyed the solitude of a dark winter evening accompanied by the sound of a crackling fire in the stove.  

Today is day two of Sargie’s hiatus from work. It promises to be similar to Saturday and we’ll enjoy each moment as it comes. I see the temperature is to drop even more, so I doubt we’ll be planting flowers or working on our tan lines.

My eyes are getting heavy and I have the urge to take a nap. It’s still very dark outside and really, there’s no reason why I should resist closing my eyes. Another hour of sleep sounds great. But wait… why settle for a mere nap when I can crawl into a nice, warm, bed alongside Sargie?

Oh, decisions, decisions… I guess I ought to make up my mind. No bother. I’m used to making such life altering choices. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

February 8, 2014 – Saturday morning

-21 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

The past two days have been yawners. With the temperatures still in the deep freeze accompanied by a hefty wind to match, my main function has been to keep the wood stove full.

As I said, it's been a yawner.

I walked both days. Yesterday was probably the more miserable of the two. There was a 20-plus mph head wind and as I hit a straightaway about halfway between Alpha and home, I became purely miserable. Yesterday’s wind caused my hood to blow up like a parachute. I took the hood off and it was cold. I put it on and the wind inflated the thing and blew down the back on my neck. Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. There was something positive; I hiked the distance in an hour and twenty minutes, my fastest time since the knee was worked on last July.

I kept busy inside on Friday. I…

Baked two loaves of bread

Washed three loads of laundry

Made a HUGE pot of chili

Swept all the floors in the house

Cleaned the hearth and the ashes out of the wood stove

Worked up the night’s supply of wood and carried it in

Spent half an hour playing fetch with Brutus

Did quite a bit of research (a professorial way of saying I surfed the internet in search of some facts and figures)

Took half an hour nap

I’ve begun looking at dates to hike the Picture Rocks Trail along Lake Superior this coming summer. It should only take me three days and two nights to complete the forty-five miles. Reservations have to be made as the Park Service limits the number of people on the trail at any one time.

I’ve done it twice; the first time with Uncle Terry and two years ago with Brother Pat. I want to do it solo this year and use the experience as a shakedown hike in hopes of kicking off, solo, on the 2,180 mile Appalachian Trail in March of 2015.

There are several goals for this coming summer’s trek. I want to make sure I have sufficient sight to ensure I can hike solo. I think I do, but it’ll be methodical… and that’s okay. Time is something I have plenty of. I used to ram all over the Arctic Circle and the entire state of Alaska by myself. Surely I can walk on a footpath up the east coast from Georgia to Maine.

My first goal is to go ultra lightweight this coming summer. When I’ve hiked with partners, I usually carry my stuff and part of theirs; and that’s okay. My personal needs are few on the trail and I’m hoping to keep my solo weight under fifteen pounds, possibly less. Two years ago when Brother Pat and I hiked, I carried twenty-eight pounds, a bit more when I hiked with Uncle Terry.

I also have to lose between thirty and forty pounds before stepping off on the Appalachian Trail a year from March. I’m not using the trail as an excuse to lose weight; that will happen on it’s own. I simply don’t want to carry an extra forty pounds, especially with one knee that is already weak. Look at it this way… forty lbs of body weight, plus ten pounds of equipment in the pack, is the same as carrying a fifty-pound cement block for 2,180 miles. It’s all I can do to cart one across the drive.

I asked my oldest son, Josh, a professor who has considerable hiking experience along with a couple of degrees in engineering, to help devise a way that I can teach from along the trail… no doubt involving some sort of mini tablet, a portable keyboard, a hiking solar panel (already have that) maybe a digital hot spot… possibly a satellite or two. And of course, I’ll have a device that will transmit my location 24/7 where anyone can go to a web page and see where I am at any particular moment. There'll be no hiding from Sargie.

Someone recently asked if I was hiking for a cause, a cure for Macular Degeneration, possibly to end world hunger, raise money for cancer research, etc.

I replied that I am. My cause is to fulfill a dream I’ve had for forty years. I want that framed piece of paper hanging on the wall that says I hiked the AT from beginning to end in one attempt. I have no idea if I’ll actually make it, the odds are heavily against me, but I have to try. I’m being selfish on this one. My cause is my dream.

So those are the things I think about on these long and cold wintery days. Well, that and tapping trees, gardening, summer fishing, building the shop in the barn, making trails through the woods so I won’t trip over rocks and logs, consider purchasing a small towable backhoe, and decide what kind of storage facility I want to build/haul in this coming summer.

Page Two

I recently saw a stand-alone aluminum carport with sides completely to the ground and have been doing some research. I could pour a floor, add ends and an overhead door, and call that a storage building. I want the most bang for my buck and unfortunately, there aren’t nearly enough bucks running around.  

I had an email this morning from the university saying I’m teaching Alaska Studies again this summer. That makes me very happy. I hope that means they want me for another year… or maybe many more years. I really enjoy my subject as it allows me to work with those who want to be educators and continue to live in Alaska, at least between my ears, even though my body happens to be on Pentoga Road.

Hey, good news. I got word that my friend, Scott, who was involved in a serious motorcycle accident several weeks ago, has come home from the hospital. He’s got a bunch of healing to do, but at least he’s home. Thanks for your prayers. I’ll be calling Scott in the near future, no doubt to offer a complimentary set of training wheels should he ever decide to resume his motorcycle riding.

Sargie’s home for the next two days. I have no idea what’s on the agenda, but I’m hoping it warms up enough that we can take a walk on the trails I made last week through the woods. The bird feeders need filling and no doubt we’ll go to town and grab a Coke, take a ride, stop at the insurance salvage place, eat leftover chili, and watch a movie or two along with the Olympics. It’s a stressful existence I lead here on Pentoga Road in the dead of winter. Oh, if only you had my life.

But then, as we all know, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road… 

They say pets and their owners take on the same characteristics. Brutus occasionally is caught with his foot in his mouth. 

February 6, 2014 – Thursday

-12 degrees/partly cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

I was up early this morning to feed the woodstove and discovered it was too full of spent ashes to add any significant amount of wood. The galvanized pail used to transport ashes was outside.

What to do? I’d sneaked down the steps clad only in a t-shirt and underwear, barefoot, and I didn’t really want to go back upstairs to dress. I did what any self respecting outdoorsman does, I walked outside clad as I was to retrieve the pail.

Later, with a fire rebuilt and dancing in the stove, a new dilemma presented itself… to finish dressing for the day and stay downstairs, or return upstairs, slide between the sheets, and press my cold body, hands, and feet, on Sargie. After all, she does the same to me and is ruthless in her quest to suck any heat from my body when she's cold. I opted for the wiser of the two; simply getting dressed and remaining up for the day. Mama didn’t have no complete dummy.

Wednesday was a yawner. The temperatures, accompanied by a hefty breeze, had sunk back to their wintry lows. I walked my usual five miles, but it wasn’t a pleasant stroll by any definition of the word. Three of the five miles were hiked directly into a brisk headwind.

The rest of the day was semi-productive, but not very interesting. I caught up on all the university work and even wrote this week’s test to be submitted for uploading. I managed to watch a bit of television, listen to some music, and towards evening, gathered enough strength to put a frozen pizza in the oven.

And that was the sum total of my day.

Sargie had to close and arrived home well after 9 PM. She has the same hours today so it will be a long one. The payoff? She has this coming Saturday and Sunday off; two days in a row and on the weekend to boot!

I’m not sure what Brutus and I are going to do today. No doubt, I’ll walk this morning and I have to run an errand or two in town after. Other than that, I’ll read and grade the stray homework assignment that has been submitted and no doubt, continue to think deep thoughts. Hey, it's the way I roll.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road… 

The beginning of the maple trail through the north woods

February 5, 2014 – Wednesday

4 degrees/cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

Well, let’s see, I guess the biggest news is we didn’t win last night’s lottery. I thought sure we’d wake up this morning being the newest instant millionaires, but that didn’t happen. Oh well, all of our friends relatives are going to have to go to work today… as is Sargie. We’re still poor common folk.

Silliness aside, we had a great Tuesday. It was Sargie’s day off and while she was doing girl-stuff inside during the morning hours, Brutus and I made a new set of trails through the north maple woods. The sun was bright, the sky blue, and nary a breeze was blowing. The worst thing that happened was when the bindings from one of the snowshoes came undone. Stepping off into three feet of snow wasn’t pleasant, especially when I had to retie the strap barehanded in the below zero temperature.

Brutus plowing ahead makes it much easier for me to snowshoe in his tracks. He actually broke most of the trail Tuesday morning. (Note the stick in his mouth)

Sargie finished what she was doing as did I and we took off for our weekly drive. It was a gorgeous day and since it was a weekday afternoon, there was little traffic. In fact, we had the entire county to ourselves.

Where to go? We had a package to mail so we stopped in town at the post office, then drove through McDonalds for Cokes. Hmm, where to? We turned to the north and east and drove to the hamlet of Amasa, spending a few minutes looking at the old buildings. From there, we wandered out on some plowed country roads.

After wandering aimlessly for half an hour, we decided to head back home. The GPS took over and started us on a series of twists and turns. I didn’t pay any attention. Sargie and I were talking a mile a minute and enjoying the scenery. It looked like a scene from a Norman Rockwell Christmas painting.

I'd like to know the history behind this old building in downtown Amasa

The roads became narrower and I noticed most were doubling as snowmobile trails. The snow banks on each side of the road were higher than the car and Sargie was convinced we were going to get wedged between the two. We topped one steep hill and peered down on a herd of deer standing in the middle of an unplowed road. Had we traveled on, we’d have had a long walk out and a hefty tow bill. After following the GPS’s directions onto a road that could have ended up in a genuine disaster, I made the executive decision to follow my gut (and training) and turn around.

The sun was getting low in the western sky. We’d been heading north and east. Home was south and west. I set the new course for whatever road headed towards the sun. Half an hour later, we popped out in civilization.

Last night was a quiet one. Sargie made soup for supper and I spent most the evening reading assignments. Bedtime was early.

I didn't realize we were ready to leave the country!

Sargie closes today so Brutus and I will be left to our own devices. I think I’ll do my five-mile walk first thing. After that, it’s a toss up. No one, including me, cleaned the garage yesterday, so that’s on the agenda. If the wind remains calm, I may ride the snowmobile down the road and make some trails on the lake, let them set overnight to pack down so I can go fishing tomorrow. It appears no one has been fishing and I’m not interested in wading out in waist deep snow a quarter of a mile in a search of meat for the table. Making trails will enable me to take the four wheeler loaded with my fishing gear out onto the ice without getting stuck… I hope.

It’s time to get this finished, throw another log on the fire, grab a cup of coffee, and think deep thoughts.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Almost sundown on Tuesday evening. Gardening season seems a long long ways away.

In anticipation of the upcoming maple syrup season; getting ready to tap trees, the first trail of the year, using snowshoes, made through the maple woods.

February 4, 2014 – Tuesday

-15 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

This is the third day in a row that it’s dawned clear and cold and if today’s anything like that past two, the temperature will rise into the twenties and be beautiful. Yooper Brother Mark said he had a low of -26 Monday morning and I registered plus 25 Monday afternoon… a swing of fifty degrees in twenty-four hours.

Days like these remind me that maple season will be here in another six weeks, more or less. It’s the huge swings in temperature, when the highs get above freezing, that makes the sap run. Needless to say, I have maple/spring fever… bad.

Sargie had to work on Sunday. I walked my five miles then spent over an hour chipping away at the snow and ice in front of the mailbox. It had accumulated to the point that the mailman had to bend down out of the window of his car to put mail in the box.

Another hour flew by as I used the plow to push back the snow banks along the drive. With all that’s fallen this winter, things were getting a bit close. Actually, it was such a nice day that I was looking for any excuse to play outside. Pushing back the snow banks gave me just that.

The garage door opener has been acting funky. It closed, but then would come partway up before stopping. I fiddled around with the adjustment screws and finally got it just right. In reading the owner’s manual (afterwards) I discovered that very cold weather can make those things go out of adjustment.

What next? Ah, one of the old snowmobiles in back of the barn? Why not? I spent over an hour digging, prying, lifting, and swearing, as I attempted to free the machine. In the end, I wasn’t sure it would even start.

I removed both spark plugs and squirted a bit of starting fluid in each hole before replacing them… one pull, nothing. Two pulls and it jumped to life. It was another half an hour before I finished digging it from the snow drifts, but the snowmobile is now ready for maple season. In fact, I used it Monday to help build trails through the deep snow.

The winter outdoorsman's best friend... the blow dryer to thaw things out.

An attempt was made to watch the Super Bowl, but it simply wasn’t a game. I felt sorry for Payton and Denver Broncos. They weren’t any match for a much stronger and better Seattle team.

Monday began with a five-mile walk. Sargie had to work so I was left to my own devices. There were plenty of papers to read when I arrived home and it was close to noon before I caught up on my homework and could turn my attentions to the outdoors.

How best to make this year’s maple trails? Last year, I gutted through the woods on the snowmobile, often running into trees that insisted on jumping out in front of me. That’s hard on the snowmobile and my body alike.  I’ve had a year to think deep thoughts about that method of trail making and it just didn’t seem like something I wanted to do again.

I strapped on the snowshoes Monday afternoon and began a slow and methodical trek through snow that was often waist-deep, sometimes missing where I wanted the trail to go, but heading in the right direction. After almost three hours of tramping in the south woods, I was ready to go over the new trails with the snowmobile, to pack them down tight.

I felt sorry for Brutus. He’s used to leading. Jumping through snow that was often over his head, the pooch had no idea in which direction to lead me and I actually saw him run into a tree once. Talk about the blind leading the blind. He finally contented himself with the knowledge that he’d have to trust where I was going and in the end, I told him to take me home, something he was happy to do.

The trail after the snowmobile has packed it down

Sargie was home early last night, tired after a long day. Brutus passed out in front of the wood stove and I had difficulty keeping my eyes open. Earlier, it seemed as though each piece of firewood weighed about fifty pounds and to rise from my chair to put a log in the stove took such effort. It was barely past 9 PM when Sargie rose from her chair saying she was going to get ready for bed. I didn’t argue.

Whoops, I missed the trail.

Sargie’s off today. I’m hoping to continue to expand the network of maple trails through the woods. There’s plenty of time before the season starts, at least six weeks, but I’ve got spring fever and for whatever reason, it simply seems like the thing to do. Regardless of the amount of snow we receive between now and then, there’ll be a good base on which to walk when tapping trees and gathering sap.

I hate to say this, but I’m going to have to clean the garage. We’ve been piling stuff on the shelves all winter, never putting anything away. There’s old food to take back to the bears (though they are still in a deep hibernation), tools to put away, boxes to burn, and all that that comes with being too cold and lazy to put anything away.

The smell of paint pervades the garage. I’m thinking perhaps a can of spray paint froze and broke open. Time was spent on Monday looking for it, but so, nothing.

With all that said, it’s time to get another cup of coffee, listen to the news, and think some deep thoughts. After all, a man’s work is never done.

A large maple burl.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Note: I didn't write how I fell over once or twice on snowshoes ending up with a face full of snow and having the white stuff inside my clothes. I'm entirely too manly and coordinated to do such a thing. Besides, to admit it might damage my delicate self esteem.

Assembling the new cabinet on Saturday.

February 2, 2014 – Sunday

Groundhog Day

2 degrees/cloudy/breezy

Pentoga Road

Okay, assuming a Yooper groundhog comes out of his den today… let’s see, even if we have six more weeks of winter… four in February… two in March. Yup, I’d be tickled with only six more weeks. That would bring us to the third week of March, just in time to start tapping trees to make syrup. Bring ‘er on, Groundhog. Let the sun shine. That would still make a shorter winter than we had last year.

Saturday was a laidback affair. I spent most the day assembling the cabinet we purchased in Green Bay. Actually, it wasn’t too bad. By far, the come-in-a-box unit is my best imitation wood, paper-coated sawdust, cheap-furniture, made-in-China, accomplishment to date.

Brutus was bound and determined he was going to help. I really appreciate the pup’s determination to lend a hand… ‘er, a paw, in everything I do, but his reading skills are poor with a dexterity level to match.

A second opinion is always a good thing... or is it?

It's funny, I put my face close to the work to see what I’m doing and he does the same. I hold the directions close to read them and he feels obligated to stick his fat nose right on the paper. Though it can be frustrating, I’m not sure what I’d do without him. He makes me laugh in what could be some rather frustrating circumstances.

It's hard enough to read the instructions without his help

Sargie was reading last night that bulldogs are one of the top five breeds desired for family pets. I can understand why. Certainly, Brutus has been a welcome addition to our lives.

Sargie  pulled off her Milligan Girl culinary gloves late yesterday afternoon and made shrimp Alfredo accompanied by garlic bread. I only have one complaint; that it was so good that I had a second HUGE helping. Then to make matters worse, I’d made a double layer red velvet cake a couple of days ago so for dessert and had not one, but two pieces. It must have been all the energy used during the construction of that cabinet. Whatever, I had an appetite.

Sargie grabbed the other end and we moved the completed cabinet into the kitchen

We took time away from our chores to drive into town. The trip was short as I wanted to get home and get the wood carried into the house before dark. Sargie assumed the fetch-playing duties with Brutus while I filled the wheelbarrow and carried in the night’s supply of firewood.

Last evening was spent watching a movie; Sandra Bullock in The Heat. The language was foul, but the movie was funny. Sargie had watched it a couple of weeks ago when she and her sisters were on their get away, gave it two thumbs up, and wanted to see it again.

Brutus spent most of last evening outside, in the dark, digging for a lost tennis ball in the snow. The pup was possessed about finding his favorite toy and to my knowledge, he never did root it out. Listening to him snore last night, I’d say he slept well after all his outside activity.

Sargie works today from noon to five. I’m going to grade papers this morning then ride with her five miles down the road and walk back home. I need to spend some time digging out the packed snow in front of the mailbox. It’s gotten so high that the mailman has to reach down to deliver mail. No doubt, I'll watch the Super Bowl later this afternoon. I like Payton Manning, so I’ll be cheering for the Broncos. The man's a class act, a real role model for much of today’s youth.

So, with all that being said, it’s time to get a cup of coffee and listen to the news. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road… 

February 1, 2014 – Saturday

-7 degrees/cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

It’s a quiet morning. Soft Celtic music is playing, a fire is crackling in the stove, the coffee is hot, and Brutus is lying on my feet keeping my tootsies toasty warm. This moment is exactly perfect just the way it is.

It’s a good feeling when a person reaches a certain age (or maturity) and discovers he needs absolutely nothing and can appreciate all that he has. Sargie and I had this discussion on our way to Green Bay yesterday morning. I had such a feeling of peace and contentment as we were driving down the interstate. The sun was warm, shining through the windshield, and the company was perfect. It dawned on me at that moment, a revelation, really, that there is nothing in the world I need. I have it all.

Note, I said “need,” not “want.” I can think of about a million things I want, projects I would like to do, and hikes I’d like to achieve. I hope that never changes. I love dreaming, planning, thinking, and occasionally, if I work and save enough, I’m able to acquire something I want. I want it all, but realistically, I’ll get only a fraction. And that’s how it should be. I’m able to appreciate my accomplishments and possessions and not having everything allows me to dream about what the future might hold.

Sargie and I were laughing while driving Friday morning. We really have nothing but a small home that could use another bedroom, forty acres of woods, two used cars, the ugliest truck in the world, a bulldog who loves us both, and a host of old, very used, machinery.

We both chuckled when one of us said, “Boy, we’re really high class, aren’t we?” Our idea of eating out is ordering cheap cheeseburgers from the McDonald’s dollar menu and an exciting evening consists of sitting at home munching popcorn and watching television.

Later, it occurred to me that it’s not about class, it’s all about happiness and being content. It’s not how many acres one owns, how fancy one’s home is, what kind of vehicles he drives, how many exotic and foreign tropic climes have been visited or cruises taken, it’s about that inner peace most of us spend our entire lives looking for.

I’ve mentioned it before. It’s said that God gives us exactly what we need when we need it. I’ve known that for some years, but I’m not sure I really understood it. I’m grateful that I’m at the age I’m beginning to. It makes me appreciate what I have that much more.

Page Two

Thursday saw five or six inches of new snow. Sargie drove the Blazer to work and found that the four-wheel drive came in handy more than once.

I graded papers most of the morning and did a couple of loads of laundry. At one point, I went downstairs and found water all over the floor, even on top of the freezer and wash machine.

Upon further examination, I discovered there’s a small trap in the discharge pipe for the washer’s waste water, a dip in the pipe that allowed a bit of ice to prevent the water from being discharged during the spin cycle.

I came upstairs and borrowed Sargie’s hairdryer.  A few minutes later, everything was good once again. Just call me Tommy Plumber.

With the snow coming down hard, Sargie left work an hour early so she might be home before dark. Brutus and I went outside and began to plow and clear the drive. I was pushing the snow from the end of the drive across the road and into the ditch.

I started to back up when I felt something in back of me. I turned around and found a school bus parked just a few feet away. I’d failed to see him coming down the road. I mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and hurriedly got out of his way. The driver smiled and waved. Nice guy.

Brutus and I ended the day with a blood and guts game of fetch and even managed not to lose any tennis balls.

Sargie and I were up early Friday morning and on the road to Green Bay by 8 AM. We talked and laughed the entire way and enjoyed ourselves a great deal.

Stops were made at Fleet Farm, Sam’s Club, the mall, Best Buy, and Harbor Freight. I knew I was going to spend a bit of money on needed items, but I didn’t realize I might have to mortgage the family farm.

We found some lights for the kitchen that were on clearance, then a cabinet that will fit behind the kitchen door where we can keep Brutus’s food and other goodies. There was a solar yard light, pole included, we’ve been looking at, and of course, I had to have that indoor seed starter green house that will fit perfectly in front of the south window by my recliner. I purchased a Chromecast gizmo that transmits everything in my Chrome browser on my computer onto our television screen. It works well and I was hoping to use it as an aide when I read and grade assignments. That’s not going to happen unless we get a television with a larger screen… and that’s NOT going to happen. Oh well, it’s great to watch videos, online movies, or share pictures that are on my computer with others.

We even stopped at the jewelry store so Sargie's ring could be checked and cleaned, something required to keep the lifetime warrantee valid. 

After a very full day of shopping we finally headed north. It was two tired people who pulled into the drive last night. After unloading the car and getting everything put away, we were more than happy to flop in the living room and enjoy what was left of the evening.

I think today will be a quiet one. No doubt, we’ll go to town and run a few errands and take a drive around the local lakes. The cabinet we purchased yesterday needs to be assembled meaning there’ll be no small amount of muttering going on. If it’s like most of those “assemble it yourself” pieces of furniture, the directions will be pretty sketchy and I’ll put it together and take it apart half a dozen times before it’s just right. Oh well, it’s only time and I have plenty of that.

Before I end, my son, Matt, has a friend, whose daughter’s class (kindergarten) is looking for postcards from all over the US and world. I’ll include the details below and if you have the time, could you send a postcard from your area to the class? I’d consider it a personal favor. Thanks.

“My daughter’s class had a Gingerbread man run away and people are sending postcards saying they saw him and what he was doing.  Could you each send her a postcard and where you saw the Gingerbread man?”

Here is the address and start it off by saying “Hi Addyson”

Mrs. O’Leary’s Kindergarten

Timony Grammar School

45 Pleasant View St.

Methuen MA 01844

As I said, if you could send a postcard, you’d make a class of kindergarten children very happy and after all, isn’t that what it’s all about? Thanks again.

So, with all that being said, I need to get this uploaded and begin to think about assembling the cabinet.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Lambeau Field. In hibernation, it will awaken next August in time for the 2014 season.