Simone's Humor Blog

As I occasionally talk about our boat, I thought perhaps it would help my reader(s) to understand a few basic nautical terms.

I would also like to say that the following definitions are not in alphabetical order because that would entail more thought than my brain can produce on only one cup of coffee. So here goes…

Dock: An area where you tie the boat between voyages and where it spends 95% of it’s time due to mechanical, structural and cosmetic problems which keep the boat owner in a continuous downward financial spiral.

Engine: Mechanical device that produces the energy to move the boat. Also a device that the captain develops a closer relationship with than with his spouse. This device will fail to start prior to departing for your voyage, and will sputter to a stop (probably more than once) during your voyage. A “gentle” tap with a hammer and a few choice words of encouragement will be needed to get it running again.

Aboard: Being on the boat. This is not an actual board, although it’s a good idea having one on the boat in case repairs are required or it’s needed when your engines have failed, you can’t find the oars and you need to direct the boat away from that rather fast approaching BIGGER boat.

Overboard: No longer on the boat, but now resting somewhere beneath the water line of the boat. This includes, but is not limited to the crew, cell phones, the boat keys, or anything of value that you brought aboard and have since dropped, lost control of and slipped out of your hands, pocket, purse or brown paper bag.

Port: Left side of the boat. Also a delightful beverage that can be enjoyed while on the boat.

Starboard: Right side of the boat, which is where (many many many years ago) the boat was steered from, thus making the board used for the oar a “star” piece of wood resulting in the term “star board” or starboard.

Head: The toilet. Which is where those who don’t take well to the boats swaying have their heads hanging over.

Log Boom: A collection of errant logs waiting to be towed to a sawmill, that (not wanting to meet that fate) break loose of their bindings the closer your boat or your body (if you’re no longer aboard) enter the area causing you to participate in a game of Dodge The Log Boom.

PFD: Personal Flotation Device is worn to keep you afloat, should you decide that boating isn’t for you and you’d rather take your chances in the water where the device will keep you afloat as you wait for the next wave from a passing boat to send you toward shore, during which time you’ll be able to practice playing Dodge The Log Boom.

Anchor: Although designed to hold the boat in place when your engine fails, it’s more of a device used to test your patience while it sweeps the rivers bottom only to (assuming the rope and chain are still attached to both anchor AND boat) finally secure the boat as it comes into contact with a log boom, at which time you automatically lose the game.

Bow: Front part of the boat, where the anchor is located, and so when trying to release it, the crew member has to bow down, revealing to whom ever is at the helm, a little too much moon.

Helm: Where the steering and controls are located, and where a barrage of verbal expletives often takes place from the Captain or crew member manning it.

Stern: The back of the boat. Also the look the Captain gives me….I mean gives the crew member when she controls the boat in such a manner as to cause other boaters nearby to test out their PFD’s.

Propeller: Has 3 blades that “propel” the boat forward until it (the propeller) comes in contact with debris in the water such as logs, fishing lines and another boats anchor chain, leading you to shut down the engine, release your anchor, tighten your PFD, and grab the oars while your Captain shouts “Arrrr… Let the games begin!”

Well I hope this has helped prepare you if you’re given the opportunity to go on a boat, whether it sits tied to the dock or heads out on a voyage in open water.

Ahoy!  I’m off to find me a delightful beverage….I mean coffee

Sunny Side Up….

Spandex use is up 400%…I’m not kidding folks! Well, that got your attention didn’t it? And I’m talking about shorts and swim wear. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it. So why is usage up? That’s a good question, and even though I waited patiently for the guy on the radio to explain that finding, NO explanation was given. I know ‘retro’ is ‘in’, but spandex shorts and/or swimsuits should NEVER be allowed back in…anywhere, anytime. My eyes are burning at the mere thought of men in spandex again and I can’t find the Visine in the medicine cabinet.

That bit of news brought the whole bathing suit issue to mind, and being summer is officially a few days away, it’s time to dig through the drawers, shake it out and try it on, only to find out that it shrunk during the winter.

You notice that men don’t seem to be bothered by how they look in a bathing suit? Beer belly, man boobs and hairy backs, they don’t care. The misguided souls that they are, seem to think they look good no matter what they’re wearing. Women on the other hand try to be considerate of those whom we may traumatize at the poolside or beach. I think sunglass companies should design a pair that make everyone look good when seen through the tinted lenses. Amen is right!

Anyway, mens swimming garments have evolved(?) from wool long john type suits that I’ve no doubt itched, short suits that offered no housing for the ‘crew’, spandex that offered housing but…ouch, my eyes!…to the (thankfully) recently popular knee length cargo shorts that offer housing AND don’t burn your retinas. So when a guy needs a new swim suit he simply goes into a store, tries on couple of pairs and then buys the first one that fits under his belly and has enough elasticity to make room for that extra burger and cola chaser (beer where available) from the nearest concession stand.

Women’s swimming garments have gone from “swimming dresses” with small weights in the hem to keep them from floating up, one piece suits, bikini ’s and, eeww, the thong suit that covers less area than a strip of dental floss.

Some women go bathing suit shopping every year. I KNOW! I won’t put myself through that rerun of hell unless I’m medicated. Well that, plus the suit I have has shrunk, is 10 years out of style or I’ve lost it…uh the bathing suit. I lose my mind at the thought of shopping for one.

It’s the same every time. Racks with suits that look like pieces of scrap material held together with little bits of string, next to racks with suits that have a bikini top and the bottom half is a skirt, to a rack with the ever present one piece suits. They come with floral patterns, polka dots, stripes, play dough day glo colors and basic black. I’ll spot one that has potential, only to find out it has no bra…NO BRA. At my age, bathing suits with just a lining in the bust area do nothing but make me look like I’ve stashed a rather long jelly roll in there…..just north of my bellybutton. Obviously whoever designs these suits are either male or still young enough that they’re under the illusion THEY won’t suffer the ravages of gravity.

Then there’s having to enter the chamber of horror..aka fitting room, which should be renamed the unfitting room as nothing I take in there fits….well….as in fits well. And what’s with the fun house mirrors? Trust me, I’m not laughing. I then have to take in at least 3 different styles that promise to hide (or at least disguise) this middle aged, menopausal body’s imperfections, by which I mean dimply, ill proportioned and gravitationally challenged parts. I also choose 3 different sizes because the clothing industry can’t seem to agree on what size is what size. You know….size 10 in one brand is a 14 in another. And don’t get me started on size 0.

Then comes trying to pull on the suit, a feeling I assume is akin to being sausage meat forced into its casing. It’s always too tight here, and too loose there. While trying to readjust areas that need tucking in, out I pop some place else, and as I glance at the mirror and see the spectacle that is me, I expect it to shatter at any moment. I attempted to try a suit on once without my glasses on, but I ended up with it on backwards, which gave me room on the lower tummy front, but, as it was a halter and therefore had no back material, left my bosom sunny side up…so to speak. It was NOT the look I was going for. It’s no wonder that once I’ve found a bathing suit that’s at all workable, I hang on to it for as long as possible.

So, after rummaging through the drawers and cupboards, I’ve not found my old suit. Aaaack! Maybe I’ll just avoid the pool and the beach this year. And with the money I save on Visine and medication, I can buy a kiddie pool for the backyard, which is conveniently enclosed by a tall fence and large trees.

I feel better already

For the past year and a half I haven’t been overly concerned with weeds. We were living in our RV, in an area of British Columbia which we lovingly referred to as the rainforest. It rained…a lot, and so it was lush and green. Weeds grow freely and without care in the rainforest. Why, during our walks up the mountain in our backyard, we even came upon a weed that BC is well known for cultivating. When I searched Google on the internet regarding Most abundant weed grown in BC, cannabis was listed as second..and third…seriously. The Vancouver Travel Guide even talks about it…again seriously. I mean their marketing strategy is great if you think about it. Offer tours of the beautiful Rocky mountains and provincial parks and you have a steady stream of visitors. Now throw in a tour of a weed grow-op including a gift shop selling organic brownies and chocolate fudge and bam, tourism explodes. The visitors will then return to their homeland with gifts of fudge (if they get it through security) for their family and friends, plus happy, if not somewhat euphoric memories of their vacation… But I digress.

Anyway, now that we’re back in Alberta and in the house again, we also have a yard that needs attending. The grass is greening up but the dandelions are popping up like weeds (I couldn’t resist). Personally, I don’t like dandelions throughout the grass. It hides the green. However, my other half doesn’t mind them at all. He kind of considers them flowers. So back to Google I went, and found out that dandelions are indeed a weed and as we all know, weeds are greedy and want whatever land space is available, even if they don’t have any documentation to prove that they have mortgaged their soul for it. They do their best to take control over the lawn, the garden and your sanity. They also leave that sticky yellow crap all over your fingers and clothes that are a b#@%h to get out.

Ok, ok dear. In all fairness I’ll list a few of their positive characteristics. Happy? Here they are:

-Dandelions bring ladybugs into your yard and then the ladybugs eat the  aphids that annoy the crap out of you while you’re on the patio sipping Baileys  on ice…I mean lemonade. Which is all fine and dandy until you get a ladybug  infestation and an army of ants show up to deal with them, resulting in an ant  infestation.

-In studies from 1941 to 1952 it was decided that dandelions should be used  for all liver treatments, so long as they were gathered late summer to fall, an  hour before dusk, while in the nude, during a thunderstorm, in a leap year, and  only on days ending in the letter Y.

-Dandelions improve bowel function, helping in both the relief of constipation  and diarrhea. The question that pops into my head, and perhaps yours, is how  does it know which ailment your suffering with?

-Dandelions also help with lowering blood pressure, improving memory loss  and … ummm … I forget what else.

Anyway, I think there should be a compromise between those misquided souls who like the dandelion weed and the informed people who don’t. Perhaps leaving a few dandelions in a controlled part of the garden or flower bed to help keep the aphids down would make us all happy, or at least on speaking terms. Then when the stress of bug infestation warfare gets your intestines in a curfuffle, you feel your blood pressure rising, and you forgot where you stashed the fudge, you can just brew up a pot of dandelion tea, perhaps with a bit of Baileys for sweetner to help it go down.

Cheers!

Good Morning….

I’m awake and, being the loving mate that I am, I kiss my other half, Brian, good morning, drag myself out of bed and put on a pot of coffee for us. As some of you know, we live in an RV and the bed is about a foot away from the kitchen. As I finish putting the grounds into the percolator and place it on the stove, I hear him roll over and open the blinds. I peek into the bedroom and see him lying on his back, gazing out the window, with a look of concentration on his face. Lost in thought he doesn’t realize that I’ve sat down on the bed next to him, so after a couple of “Ahems”, waving my hand in his face and then “Helloooooo, anybody there?” he glances at me like he’s never seen me before.

After I reintroduce myself, I query “What are you thinking about?” Now, remember that he’s still in bed, hasn’t been awake too long AND hasn’t had his coffee yet. Well he comes back mumbling about burning stuff (apparently he could smell something from outside) and resulting gasses, and possible changes in the mass or density… or something …You know, science stuff.  My immediate thought (and I’m sure yours) is What the hell? As I didn’t have MY coffee yet either, I thought perhaps I’d missed something. “Run that by me again, only in a way that a non scientific, non caffeinated person might understand”. And all I hear is “Science stuff, science stuff, science stuff”. Being quick witted (and desperate) I spit out “Um…coffee’s ready …and I need to pee” (Pee is always a good excuse) as I make a hasty retreat. Whew…that was close.

What I don’t get is that he wasn’t even out of bed yet but his mind was doing a scientific exercise. Usually I can’t get him to focus on ANYTHING until he’s had coffee…sheesh. So anyway, when I first wake up and my initial thought of  Damn, that dream was just getting good  passes, my next thoughts usually run along the lines of I need to pee and Whose turn is it to make coffee? If it’s my turn to linger in bed then I might ponder what I need do that day and perhaps how to get out of doing it. Not once have I pondered science stuff. But that’s just me.

Anyway, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to do find out what others think about while lazing for a few extra moments before dragging their butts out of bed and heading off into the rat race. Well I polled pretty much anyone that would listen to me, including the 7-Eleven cashier, the telemarketer that called, and group of (non English speaking) Japanese tourists waiting in line for a photo opp in front of a wooden Sasquatch.  Following days…hours…OK.. minutes of studying the responses, the most frequent answers (after the always popular SEX answer given by both attached and single men…go figure) were:

1 – Wishing for more sleep

2 – Need to pee

3 – Coffee

4 – Oyster Jello (I may have mistranslated the Japanese)

You notice that NOWHERE in the above list do you see anything relating to science.

So what’s all that prove? That….um….Well that perhaps I’m not good at Japanese to English translation. It also got me thinking about how quite a bit of us wake up each day and don’t put much thought into the wonders of this world, how it all came about or how it’s progressing/digressing. How we also take for granted all the scientific inventions that make our lives easier and more comfortable. Isn’t it nice that this world has scientists and other people like Brian who question what stuff is made up of, how it works and how it can be better. I admit that science has never been my strong point (Then again neither has paint by numbers, but that’s another story) but with him patiently by my side I AM learning.

What’s that dear? The thermodynamics of carbon? Well….Um….Oh look, the coffee’s ready…and I need to pee.

Most people collect things like stamps, spoons, coins and dust.  I, myself, use to collect music boxes. As beautiful as they were, they did take up space. Realizing that moving into an RV and perhaps at some point onto a boat would give me limited space for such collectables, I found them new homes.

Over the last year, my other half has been collecting containers. I don’t mean steel shipping containers, shed containers, boxes or footlocker size Tupperware containers. I mean miscellaneous containers that once held products such as peanut butter, coffee, spices or sedatives    Tylenol. Nope, it’s jars, cans and bottles of all different sizes. The only criteria are that it has a lid and hopefully no leaks. Now the only thing I collect these days is my wits about me when he catches me trying to dispose of a jar and reacts like I’m throwing away a rare artifact from the Titanic.

“What are you doing? Don’t throw that out!” he gasps, clutching his chest.

I stop, look at the jar and then back at him. Damn, I’m busted. “We, meaning you, don’t need any more containers. There are too many empty ones around here already. What are you planning to DO with them all anyway?”

“They’re good for putting stuff in” he says as he holds out his hand to receive the jar, still clutching his chest with other. He already has a BAG of “stuff” that he carts around wherever we go. It started out as a baggie size thing with a washer, a couple of nuts/bolts, a marble and an elastic band, but has become a gym bag (not to be confused with a “man bag” which is a male version of a purse) containing the previous baggie contents (multiplied by 20) plus items like miniature tools, duct tape, WD40, our camera and his Mr. Magoo glasses. Ok, maybe it is a man bag. Anyway, we’re ready for anything from sealing a hole in the space shuttle to getting his pants zipper unstuck, at which time I’ll be ready to grab the camera and do my part by taking pictures….of the space shuttle….But I digress.

Anyway, I admit I’ve seen him use a couple of the containers in the outside storage area of the RV and on the boat, but a couple is a far cry from the amount that’s been accumulating in the RV. They’re everywhere! In the clothes closet, the shower, the laundry basket, on the table, under the table, and sitting next to him on the bench. I’m drawing the line if they show up in our bed. I have dreams that I wake up to find our dishes have been replaced by an army of containers marching under the command of a President’s Choice bulk coffee can, and I’m forced to eat my cereal out of pickle jar.

So anyway, still holding the jar I say “Come on now, how many more screws and bits and things do you foresee in our future?”

Still clutching his chest and looking with eyes that couldn’t get any bigger, the man who always has an answer for everything (right or WRONG) responds with a shrug. Well I was so taken by surprise that I thought perhaps he was indeed having a heart attack, and so I handed him the jar, at which time he made a miraculous recovery. Damn I’m gullible.  

And so went another day. He, casually finding a space for the jar, and me coming closer to drinking my Baileys  Milk out of a peanut can.  I brush my teeth, crawl  between the sheets and then….“OW, my toe!……”What the hell?”

Pass the Tylenol

Post blog update: Well it turns out Brian’s stepdad loves containers too and Brian doesn’t hold a candle to him. Here’s a pic from his workshop, and keep in mind it’s only one corner of his shop.

YABADABADOOOO…

I remember watching The Flinstones when I was a child. They seemed to get by without electricity and still had a few conveniences that made life a little simpler. Like the toaster which was simply a couple of little dragons blowing fire on each side of the bread. And the washing machine used an octopus to wash and rinse the clothes, which were then hung outside on the clothesline with birds as clothes pins sitting on them and holding them in place with their feet. Mind you, Wilma’s laundry may have been a continuous battle with all the bird poop dropped onto the clean clothes while said close pins were sitting on them. Hmmm…wash, poo, wash, poo. Well at least the octopus and birds had job security.

Those appliances today are technical wonders. When does a toaster not look like a toaster? When it looks like a computer. Seriously. Don’t think your computer has enough functions? Well now you can make toast with while you browse the internet. Yup, just put the bread, bagel or frozen waffle into the slot provided on the PC and by the time you’ve logged on to Facebook, out pops your toasted item. There are also toasters that leave designs or messages on the bread. You can leave the house in the morning feeling confident that your teenager will know he needs to take out the garbage, assuming he hasn’t smeared peanut butter on it first (the toast, not the garbage).   

The new washing machines are more intelligent than most people I know. They’ll sort your clothes by color, pretreat stains, choose the appropriate cycle and water temperature, while doing your taxes, and checking your email. And besides drying the clothes, the dryer will press, fold and sew on that button that fell off two weeks ago. They still, however, lose one sock with every load.

This brings me to my microwave oven.  I like the microwave oven. It’s handy for heating coffee, soup, leftovers and  making oatmeal (yes we’re that busy….Ok we’re lazy) AND in the middle of the night when I get up to pee, the fluorescent numbers on the digital clock let me know it is indeed the middle of the night. Now I know I have to pee regardless of the time, but I can’t resist glancing at the clock to see what ungodly hour my bladder has chosen to disrupt my slumber. I also can’t resist popcorn, babies or singing along to Don’t Worry Be Happy. But I digress.

Anyway, when I was a child there was no such thing as a microwave oven, or so I thought. Turns out the first marketable microwave was created in 1947. It was called the Radarange, stood over six feet tall and weighted close to 800 pounds. I KNOW! Try wrapping THAT and putting it under the tree at Christmas, or mounting it above the counter. If memory serves me correctly, I purchased our first microwave oven somewhere in the late 70’s. I also purchased a Helen Reddy album, eye glasses with lenses as big as a compact disc, slouch socks and leg warmers. But I digress…again.

The reason I bring up the microwave oven is that not long ago our oven was taking twenty minutes to heat a cup of water, and sounding like Kermit the frog with his tongue stuck to a chain link fence post in winter. It was also manufactured around the same time as the Radarange, and that alone should be an indicator that something was wrong. Anyway, I told my other half that it was broken and we should to replace it, and he, being the I Might Be Able To Fix It guy, disassembled it, examined all parts thoroughly, and when confronted with the melted thingy that makes the microwaves, came to the conclusion…are you ready…that it was broken and we should replace it.

Microwave Autopsy

Off we went to buy a new microwave oven. This should have taken about ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Or so we thought. Microwave ovens today are loaded with “Sensors”. This means it can defrost hamburger, reheat leftovers, PLUS pick out a recipe from its cookbook, modify it to fit your dietary requirements, assemble the ingredients, cook it to perfection, ALL while you watch YouTube videos on the door screen. I kid you not. You can sit back and watch your favorite Brittany Spears video while your tuna casserole and your brain are cooked to perfection. Pass the popcorn!

Much to the disappointment of the salesgirl, we settled for an Easy Bake Oven with an energy saver light bulb.  Works great, no animals are abused or endangered, it doesn’t need a college degree to figure it out, and my other half is happy to have his oatmeal again. Life is good.

Now if only I could find my missing socks.

 The Joy Of Sharing…

We spent a really nice few days at Brians parents farm where the food and desserts have a way of totally disarming ANY self control I try so hard to tell myself I have, resulting in an orgy of gluttony, followed shortly after by my pants huffing, puffing and laughing (I swear) as I struggle to do up the zipper, while blaming their tightness on the dryer running too hot.

The time had come for us to prepare to head to Calgary to visit the kids and grandkids for Christmas. Brians daughter had called to see when we would be arriving and informed us that the 2 girls had the flu (bummer)

Well, we figured as we were starting out at my daughters place, the girls would be over it by Christmas Eve and we’d be able to see them while partaking of their hospitality for the night. Contact with them earlier that day revealed that the kids had shared whatever had a grip on them, and that his daughter and her husband were feeling run down, their stomachs gurgling, no appetite, etc. etc. (ick).So we wished them well and put off the visit for another day or so.

I come from a large family so bedding down wouldn’t be a problem and as we were to have Christmas dinner at one of my sisters homes, she invited us to stay the night before (Thanks sis. Santa will surely put you on his good girl list for next year)

Christmas morning his daughter informed us that they were experiencing what she referred to as a “Christmas massacre” and she wasn’t referring to the usual mountains of wrapping paper, but rather to the fact that the whole household was under attack from nasty things like the forceful ejection of contents of the stomach through the mouth and rapid movement of … um… other matter through the intestine producing frequent evacuation of said other matter. So once again we delayed our visit.

Anyway, a couple of days later we did drop in for a visit, and although the house had been thoroughly cleaned, a sneaky little flu bug that had obviously had it’s disinfectant shot, attached itself to me and next thing I know I’m the one hugging the porcelain bowl, ejecting and evacuating (I think that should be considered multitasking) Oh how I yearned for the room to stop spinning, my body to stop sweating like I’d just run a marathon when the most strenuous thing I’d done was move from the bed to the bathroom floor, and for the toilet to stop laughing at me. I swear the water was giggling as it refilled after every flush…seriously.

At one point I looked in the mirror and wondered who the pasty colored, droopy eyed, frazzled woman with the bad hair was. Surely that couldn’t be me, I thought, as another wave forced me back to the coolness of the floor and the porcelain bowl.

Now, obviously I have recovered or I wouldn’t be boring you with my story. I’m happy to report that Brian didn’t get it, and a week and a half later shows no signs.

I’d like to leave you with the following poem I worked really hard (for about 2 minutes) to write for your reading pleasure. Sorry but I don’t have a title for it.

I do not like to have the flu

It makes me feel like yuck

With aches and pains and so much poo

And don’t forget the upchuck

I’m dizzy and I can’t see well

My arms and legs are weak

I just want out of this sickly hell

And back to a healthy peak

So while I wait this out in bed

Or on the bathroom floor

Don’t bother me, but please, instead

Just close the appropriate door

And should you get this nasty flu

That makes you feel like yuck

With aches and pains and so much poo

Well to that I say Good Luck!

Eventually we had a great visit with both our families and a few friends too. Thanks for everyones hospitality!

Happy New Year :-)

Practice Makes..um..Good

“More. I need a little more” I say as I lay on the bed.

“Well don’t pull on it. Give it some slack” is his reply as I give a little tug. “I don’t think this is how we did it LAST time, do you?”

It’s been a while since we’ve done it, and our memories aren’t what they used to be. You ever notice you remember things that aren’t way up there on the You’re Going To Need This Information In The Future list, but can’t remember your kids birthdays, where you put the car keys, what you were supposed to buy at Safeway or why you’re standing in the bathroom with a magnifying glass in your hand staring at yourself in the mirror. Anyway…

“Maybe we should try it upside down” I offer, as I struggle to reposition.

After shuffling around with a grunt or two and only one stubbed toe, it looked like it might work. A bit more manipulation and then…

“Are you done?”

“No. I can’t keep it up. It has too many finger prints on it”

“Well I’d say somebody handled it too much then”

Smirks and verbal jabs weren’t going to help. Patience. We needed a little patience, that’s all. Besides it was actually going better than I expected, and I think for the most part he thought so too…

“Just give me a sec… Ok…ah…but I need it a little tighter”

“That’s as tight as I can make it. Take it or leave it”

“Ok, ok, ok”

”Aaaah…There, you’ve got it…YESSS!…..sigh…Finally.”

“Pretty good eh?”

“Yes dear. I’ll just leave you to finish” I reply as I scurry off the bed and head out into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“All done!” he announces shortly after, and then joins me on the sofa. “How long do you think that took?”

“About forty minutes, which is a lot less than last time.”

“Really? Great! We’re becoming real pro’s at this. Next time we should be able to do it in twenty”

Well we managed for the second time to seal up the bedroom windows in the RV for the winter.

Whoa now people! What were you thinking? Sheesh…

Anyway, maybe I’ll win the lottery before next December rolls around so we can get an RV with double pane windows. I know that doing little projects together helps build a strong relationship, and this episode was no exception. But wrestling sheets of plastic, tape and scissors (now there’s a safety issue) while on the bed (remember it’s a small RV)) without causing (much) bodily harm, has been done. I say let’s try something new…like, oh I don’t know, ice racing or salsa dancing.

Start Your Engines…

“I think I’ll start up my vehicles” Brian says as he browses through a booklet on the newest computer thingamajigs (This word is actually in the dictionary, I kid you not). How looking at computer stuff kicked his brain into thinking about cars and trucks is a mystery to me, but so is Stephen Harper, people who wear spandex, and getting the wrapper off a new CD case.

“You mean the ones out in the cow pasture?” I query, although I already knew the answer as we were at his parents farm where he has several stationary vehicles, by which I mean they’re parked and are not moving nor, as far as I can tell, will be moving any time soon.

He offers a “Ya ya” as he puts aside the booklet, leans back and grins at me as if he’s just discovered out how to get the wrapper off a new CD case. My simple “Why?” was greeted with “Just to see if they will.” In the year plus that I’ve been going to the farm with him, he’s never tried to start up his collection of vehicles. In fact I didn’t think any of them even HAD the ability to start anymore, and were more like conversation pieces for the cows…

          “You know Mable, I think that grey one with the big eyes

is kind of cute. Seems a little standoffish though. I asked if he’d

like to play Dodge The Cow Pie, but he won’t even look me in

the eye”

          “I’m kind of fond of that older white one, but I know what

           you mean Dorothy. None of them are very friendly. Look how

           they stay in their own little group and act like we’re not here.”

          “Well who needs them anyway. Come on, let’s go see Beth. I

  heard she had implants.”

Anyway, when I had asked why he had so many vehicles he said “I might need one some day” and “If nothing else, the parts alone are worth it.” And I’m thinking “Worth what??” I mean really, how many carburetors, starters, rear view mirrors and thingamabobs (distant cousin to thingamajigs) should a person have “just in case”? How many vehicles does he intend to have along the way that these parts will be compatible with, hmmm? This guy has enough parts strewn about the farm to open up his own shop. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like everything is in a big pile in the middle of the front yard. Some of it is in his shed (which is smaller than a warehouse but bigger than a Mini Lube station), some is in his stepdads workshop (I don’t know why, considering there’s no work being done with them), and some of it is…….ok, it’s in a pile…or two…but covered up (mostly) and not in the front yard.

Anyway, my curiosity was piqued ((I didn’t have anything else to do) and  after Brian found (hopefully) all the keys, I headed out to the field with the company of Freckles (the dog) and he drove our car (to use as a boost) As I approached the area, the first vehicle to catch my eye is what I call Farley, which is a big old Fargo truck that Brian (at the time of purchase) was sure would be a breeze to fix (ha) and is (six months later) still parked in the field and NOT fixed. Well, we stop at Farley and next thing I know Brian is in the back, passing me parts and whatchamacallits (second cousin once removed to thingamabobs) that I then either put on the ground or into a wheelbarrow. Can anyone say “Side tracked”? Said parts were then taken to the “shed” to be protected from the upcoming winter elements, meaning Farley is going to be parked in the field for at least another six months…sigh.  

Eventually we made our way back to the other vehicles that were nestled ever so cozy amongst grass, brush, hay and cow patties. Freckles had lost interest and headed off to find something to dig up, chew or roll in. Brian picked out a few cars and checked under the hoods to find they didn’t all have batteries. No problem, we’ll just shuffle batteries around as needed. After hooking up our car battery with the first vehicle, my job was to get in and try to start it. Well I was totally surprised when it started up after only a couple of tries, and if the look on Brians face was any indication so was he, even though he denies he had any doubt (I believe you dear). Anyway, once all the smoke cleared, our coughing subsided to a low hack, and our eyes stopped watering enough for us to see, we continued down the line and after some tinkering and a few…um…words of encouragement, successfully started five vehicles. Sounded like a good time to stop. No sense taking a chance on ruining our perfect score or putting one of us into a carcinogenic coma. And besides, I needed to pee.

Later that evening Brian beamed with pride as he told the family of the successful start ups, like a father boasting after his child has used the potty for the first time. I’m waiting for the day when I see these vehicles MOVE and not just start, or at least contribute in some way other than increasing our carbon footprint, and providing the cows with something other than each other to mooo at.

I’m just saying J

It’s Sheer Magnetism…

“Maybe I should make my own magnets”

I’m reading a book while sitting next to Brian on the sofa when he throws that tidbit out into the room. The statement itself doesn’t surprise me as he’s been interested in magnets and magnetic motors for some time. One of his goals, and there are a few, is to actually produce his own permanent magnetic motor, and so he often researches the topic.

So there I sit, minding my own business, when he puts forth that question, and once again before I catch myself, my mouth opens and I query “Ok, but how is a magnet made?” I immediately realize what I’ve done and sure enough his reply is “Don’t you remember learning it in school?” only to receive my Don’t Go There look, to which I get “Well look it up.” My shoulders slump and I quietly moan. As we don’t have regular internet at this time (Google is your friend), I’m handed a physics book and he even tells me where to find the information on magnets ……I know! If I was to look up something in one of my medical books I definitely probably might be able to pick the right book, but I would most likely probably definitely have to look up what page(s) I needed to reference. Then again, Brian reads and rereads books on physics, math, chemistry and the like, just to pass the time, and considers them light reading. My idea of light reading is the front of a cereal box.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for learning…really. I believe it’s important to expand ones knowledge. However, these days my search for knowledge runs more in the direction of Fiction and puzzles like Sudoku books and not so much on Study books. Now bless Brian the dear man because he means well, but whenever he asks me a question and I respond with a No, I don’t know, or give the deer in the headlights stare, I feel a bit sorry for him because the look he gives me back is quite painful…for him…or maybe it’s just gas. But I digress.

Anyway, I did remember that magnets have “poles”, one north and one south. I got that part, but they lost me after that when the book went on about the relationship between magnetic poles and geographic poles. Something about north poles being south poles but pointed north, or maybe it was south poles being north poles pointing north, or was that south, and does that mean Santa really lives at the south pole, not the north pole, because that might explain why my letters to him keep coming back. And then the book starts showing equations of which I’m not a big fan. At this stage of my life, the only equation I want to figure out is how many pieces of chocolate it will take to stabilize my mood swing after I’ve been reading a physics book.

So anyway, the next day I hear a “Huh” from Brian, which usually means he’s thinking and there’s more to follow. Sure enough, a few seconds later, he’s standing next to me saying “You’ll sit there and do a meaningless puzzle, but you read a couple of pages in one of my books and whine I can’t do this…It’s too hard…I don’t get it, to which I say “I am exercising my brain…I can do this…It’s not too hard…and I do get it.” He walked away smiling, his eyes rolling, and his head shaking.

In the end I did learn how to make a magnet, albeit a small one, and when the time comes for Brian to develop his magnetic motor, I’ll be right along side him with my magnet, picking up paper clips as needed and giving him all the support I can muster.

In the meantime, I have a new cereal box to read, a puzzle to finish, and Brian says if I don’t do my homework Santa won’t bring me what I want…sigh.