Ode to my Garrett

There's a member of the clan who seldom gets the spotlight.

The unsung hero: Garrett.  He is a loyal, go anywhere, wait patiently kind of guy.  We put in long days together at work.

A fine companion.

His calm presence tempers the occasional feeling of futility when fighting the mess of leaves around here.

Just as long as he can ride with the wind in his hair, he's happy.

Cheapskate Date

Thursday nights are Cheapskate night at the Columbus Ice Rink.  $5 per person gets you 4 hours of ice time and rentals.

Perfect for two cheapskates.  I suggest, he accepts, neglecting to mention it would be only his second time on skates.

My keister kisses the ice, his never does.  Showoff.

My foot throbs the whole time, his ankles start to hurt.  We log an hour and a half and these half century warriors call it a night and limp home.

Demon Spawn

Demon Spawn, Devil Dog, Retard, Special... he's been called a lot of things by employees past and present here at the farm.  I admit to preferring the first one myself, quite frankly Dax has earned these monikers.

And yet how I have grown to love this child, I cannot tell begin to describe.

So, when he insists on playing in the Christmas tree, I decide to opt out of Christmas balls and stick with only lights. Makes my life easier, I should thank him.

He's always at my side.  As are the other loyal dogs.

Even when pulling a late nighter catching up on farm accounting.

They're always there.

But one will always be Special.

Renovations

Dec. 9th: 6 month post surgery follow up. 
 Much anticipated, was going to get my 'all clear' for running.  My previous check up in October had been stellar, bone graft was setting well. Yet, something happened in November that niggled at the back of my mind.  About 3 weeks ago, I snapped at the opportunity to go to Atlanta and be trained by an Olympic pentathlon coach. From 8 AM to 3 PM, hours of swimming, fencing and pistol shooting.  No running, nothing I hadn't been cleared to do, I swear!  The next day, something didn't feel quite right, I choked it up to burgeoning arthritis.

Been biking mile after mile on it every day to exercise the hell hounds and figured I'd simply have to learn how to ignore this new arthritis pain.

On Sunday, my attempt to spread 500 pounds of fertilizer for the sprouting wheat in the horse pastures came to a dramatic halt almost immediately when the bottom plate fell out of the hopper. With rain expected overnight and unable to move the tractor, I came up with Plan B: borrow a neighbor's spreader.  Albeit smaller than I had hoped, but effective.

Instead of crop circles, we will soon have bright green lines running amok that only Picasso could be proud of.  But, the hopper was eventually emptied and spread by hand and I got my cardio!

Never say die. 
Even got to use the arena lights to shine on the remaining acres to finish up the job, AND had an irate husband show up in pyjamas asking if "I was planning on coming home tonight, or not".  
So, on Monday, when I told the surgeon how annoyed my foot was after miles of fertilizing the previous day, he just blinked at me. X-rays show the pins are broken, thus as is my foot. Then said "we're putting in a plate".  @$!&?  Yes, the whole ordeal starts again... next Tuesday.
I'm deflated, deeply disappointed I still can't run, angry and anxious because it had been a very painful surgery and post op period. I distinctly remember saying "glad I don't ever have to do that again". Sure they prescribe pain meds, but I refuse to sully my body with them nor taint my house with their presence.  This is me at my most militant. This will be surgery 13 or 14, losing count now, but I've only used opioids once after my first surgery and they're not for me.  I'd rather have searing pain than  have my brain dulled into seeing pretty pink balloons. As a precaution for my heart, we're going the route of local block versus general anesthesia. That was a uniquely painful experience I'd hoped to never revisit. 
Enough of the pity party, I have to amp myself up to get all my work done in one week rather than two.  And I have the uphill battle to convince The Husband that we can still go on our honeymoon.

Just booked everything this weekend.

Cabana in the mountains on a coffee plantation.

Isolated in El Salvador for 4 days, what's he squawking about?  I do not know.

I'm buying another knee scooter, one with big knobbly tires better suited for 4 wheeling. 

Yes, El Salvador, I know, I know, in the top 10 most dangerous countries in the world.  We live in a country where people get mowed down in schools and theaters, it's all relative.  The plantation owner assures me their 3 Rottweilers keep everyone out.  
You can take me off the farm, but I'll just find another  one to hide in!!! 
And yes, you can feel sorry for Flynn, but not too much.  He'll get all the fun of driving the rental car in a third world country, not me with my cast.
I think next December we should check out flights to Ethiopia. And I get to drive!

Darwin Awards

Genius broke his toe nail into the quick.

No running for you, mister.

And thus, we pout.

He is my master of disaster.

Camping With the Crew

The tent had been up for a week before I could haul half the bedroom into it.

Air mattresses, down comforters, doggy sleeping bags,everything we could want to sleep peacefully in low 30'F temps.

Didn't take into account gale force winds on our first night.

A little disconcerting to all.

The team tries to weather the cold and the winds, but by 2 AM, Dax and Micah declare mutiny: "Unless you can provide us with 5 star camping, take us back to the Hyatt".
I walk them all back home and stomp back to the tent by myself.  So much for my loyal dogs!

Dodge Ramcharger Comes Home

So, my mechanic tells me my beautiful 1979 Dodge Ramcharger isn't road worthy yet, not even close. Hard to start, likes to stall, something fishy going on with tranny and doesn't respond well to pressure applied on brake pedal.  Meh... pesky details.
I put my good luck owl hat on and bolster myself to lock horns with Bubba.  "You're not taking it", "Don't be a big ogre, I'm taking it", "you won't make it", "maybe, maybe not".

Initially, it looks like he's going to win because each time I put it in reverse, she stalls.
I coo her name "C'mon Bumble, let's go home". And we're off, rattling down the road, checking my rear view mirror to see if Bubba can catch me!

Sooo, she runs too rich and needs to be thrown in neutral far in advance of any stopping, still we chug down the back roads towards the farm.
The dirt roads teach me to hang on tight, as the front end has more play in it than a merry-go-round.

Still, she cruises. I'm smiling so much my face hurts.  We get within a mile of the house and the stalling begins in earnest.  I barely get her in the drive when she says "that's enough for today". Bumble gave 'er all she had and now I can take over swapping out her carburetor and drooling through the JC Whitney catalog for replacement parts.

A Holley or Edelbrock carb?... decisions, decisions.

This is a thing of beauty.

The dogs and I spend hours crawling through and under it. Licking and in my case, poking, everything.

40 years of smells.  Bonanza!

She's solid underneath.

Micah prefers to be a backseat driver.

Dax definitely prefers shotgun.

I do believe we all approve.

Garrett, no more bewildered than normal... Peter, absent, signaling his approval from his perch on the couch... All 5 in agreement, she's a keeper! 

When vehicles were built to last.

I grew up loving wing windows.

Nothing aerodynamic about this baby! Square and solid as Gibraltar.

What a productive day off it has been!!!  I love going back to work more tired than when I left!

Oh dear Bumble, how I love thee.