As I was checking the weather Channel for a break in the recent cold snap we are experiencing I noticed the projected high and low temperatures in the weather almanac. The record low was 7 degrees in 1977.
That is specifically January 30, 1977.
Now, if you know me you realize that the random mention of some seemingly innocuous place or date can provoke me to go into a long winded story. Seven degrees on January 30, is no exception of course.
As I recall that January was even colder than it is now.
I had to walk 5 miles back and forth to school, uphill both ways, in a blizzard pulling a sled full of dogs... Oh wait that's another story.
But it was coollldd! Being 15 years old, cold is only a limiting factor when asked to do something by your parents. "Kevin, get your feet off the coffee table!"
"But Ma, it's too cold!"
My friends and I had a routine on Friday and Saturday nights that involved going to Ray Carr's house on Fisherman's road and drink beer and smoke pot. (Hey it was the '70's!) One of the highlights of a Saturday night was watching the Muppet Show at 7:00. Try to imagine 6 stoned and drunk idiots watching Gonzo blow up other puppets.
I guess watching the Swedish Chef gave a bad case of the hungry horrors and we all piled in Ray's 1970 4 door Nova and headed out to Burger Chef. A trip to the 'Chef' was known as the 'Chef Charade'. A term coined by Karl Pederson. Burger Chef was located where Burger King now sits.
On the trip home someone commented on the fact the bays on both sides of the causeway were frozen as far as one could see. Because I rode my dirt bike mostly every day I added that the sand along Crescent Beach at the Town Beach was frozen solid and an iceberg had grounded at the far end of the beach. I had also seen seals basking near the iceberg. No one seemed to believe me. Taking a ride to the Town Beach seemed like a grand idea, to investigate my claim. When we got to the beach Ray drove down the access road that crosses the marsh near the tower. When we reached where the lane turns to beach we all got out and walked over the sand to the waters edge and sure enough, the sand was frozen to within 3 feet of the waters edge. Only a bit of a white blob was visible of the iceberg half a mile away. Everyone wanted to see it up close but didn't feel like walking out and back in the cold.
We all piled in the Nova and headed slowly out on the beach. I suggested that since I knew the beach intricately that I should sit in the shotgun seat. Ray agreed. I guided Ray just below the high water mark where seaweed accumulates and tends to be softer. If one tire rolled into a soft spot the car would be hopelessly stuck out in the middle of the beach.
As we neared the iceberg it became plainly visible and everybody was hootin' and hollerin'! Ray was astonished. None of us had ever seen or heard of an iceberg even near West Island's waters. When we reached a point where I knew the fine frozen sand turned into a loose gravel, I directed Ray to head to the crest of the dune and turn around to face the car back towards where we came. I knew this was the most likely spot that the car could get stuck so heading down the dune and a few yards back was the best choice at that time.
We got out of the car and raced to the ice flow. The spot where the ice had grounded was in the water at high tide but accessible by walking over the boulders at low tide and was about 100 feet out. Since I knew the rocks were capped with a layer of ice I stopped at the waterline. I had seen the spectacle in the daylight and watching the others amazement was enough for me. Peter Ostiguy made it all the way out to and on top of the iceberg and shouted back that it was bigger than Ray's house!. I think Scott West fell on the glazed rock and returned to the beach. Someone decided we should leave and it was fun to watch Peter trying to get back to the car before we left him there!
We made it back without incident and had an amazing story to tell about 'The Iceberg at the Town Beach'.
It's really amazing and a testament as to how cold it was that winter. When we got out of the car Ray left the motor running. It never occurred to me then but the heat from the engine, exhaust and even the temperature difference between the tires and sand could have caused one wheel to break through the ice crust. If that did happen it probably would have been nearly impossible to recover the Nova, or at a minimum, very expensive.
By definition the iceberg was a 'medium' sized one. Seals have been sighted around the Island since 1977 but never an iceberg as big as a house, nor has anyone else ever driven a 1970 Nova out to Monastary Rock!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
I am near tears
My shed caught fire. Thelma and Louise are presumed lost. An electrical transformer on a fluorescent light looks like the cause. After 4 months or so of work I had just today made a successful mold for my foundry. I had been trying for 4 days to get it right. On the way to St Anne's Pain Center this morning I felt this sudden surge that this would a GREAT year.
I can't judge something as important as a year on just one bad day out of 18 so far.
I am vacillating between anger and thanks. Anger being the hardest feeling to modulate.
Get this. I saved a humongous bottle (nearly empty) of Jack Daniels, a small bottle of Kahlua,(new), and 4 Moosehead beers. I had already removed a bottle of Mr Boston Blackberry Brandy earlier. I am not proud of this but Jack, Mr Boston and I will most likely be very close tonight.
My 'Library' of manuals and how to books has hopefully been removed by Louise (the smart Rat) to a safe place. Doubtful at best. I anticipate nightmares. Sometime during the conflagration which lasted 20 minutes or more from discovery to a black, smokey wet climax. Willy, my cat, under quarantine, escaped. Let's hope the rats and he have reached a peace accord.
I have just finished reading "A Wind To Shake The World:The 1938 Hurricane" for anybody who wants to borrow it, email me. A seemingly fitting way to end the day, learning of the hardship of others .
7:00 a.m. Tuesday
Willy had returned in 30 minutes last night. That was good. I did have a dream about the rats. They were all black and there were 3 of them. That meant there was Thelma and Louise and a wild rat. I couldn't determine which one was the 'bad' rat. That's all I remember of the dream.
I went out in my pajamas to survey the mess in daylight. I suppose it could have been worse. I am reminded of a conversation with someone long ago.
Me, "I had a motorcycle accident in which I broke my left clavicle, 2 ribs, bones in my neck, 2 places in my right hip, my pelvis, my left femoral neck, femur and tibula and fibula, my right ankle, my tailbone, I had a collapsed lung and pneumonia along with a head injury."
Person, "Wow. You're lucky!"
Of course he meant I was lucky to be alive, but you can see my irony in his reply.
So I will say, I'm lucky that the fire wasn't worse than it was. I thought I heard some scratching around. Maybe Thelma or Louise? The acrid smell of burnt electronics that I know relates to transformers hangs in the air. The reason I know what burnt transformers smell like is because I worked making them for 3 years.
My drill press, bench grinder and compressor are on the opposite side and below most of the damage. Wooden shelves across the underside of the roof helped the fire spread from the light.
Life lesson: Suspend lights as far from ceilings as possible and leave good air space around their sides.
I wanted to switch from 4 foot lights to those twisty little screw ins. I didn't. My mind is blank as to a sentence to follow that. Maybe "I've got more excuses than a pregnant nun," is fitting.
The aluminum roof melted and buckled in 2 spots. I know that aluminum melts at around 1400 degrees. That fact wasn't on my mind as I opened the shed doors last night and had to get down on my knees to crawl in with a garden house. If it had been freezing there would be nothing left waiting for the Fire Department. It takes 7-10 minutes for emergency vehicles to get down here from the Police and Fire station.
Amid the soot blackened items there is surprising beauty. A stereo speaker cover peeled away from the speaker box as it melted. The backside of it was made with some sort of large mesh material. The mesh is distorted and stretched in a mesmerising pattern as if it were a dancer leaning over backward. A bottle of Seagram's heated to the breaking point now resembles a crown. Supreme irony in that the now missing label had an image of a crown. An aquarium light that was in storage now looks like shiny, dripping molasses. The drips hang 2 feet from the shelf.
I want to get out there and throw out as much as I can, today is garbage day. I feel that I have to start cleaning and rebuilding right away or I may just give up on my shop.
So off I go.
11:30 All I can do is stare. More amazing items catch my eye. A round plastic battery powered wall clock still hanging over my workbench looks for all the world like a Salvador Dali painting. Drooping into an egg shape it's hands stopped at 4:55. A cheap yellow coil of air hose has melted into a flat intricate swirl that reminds me of a Spirograph drawing. A newly started collection of stacked up CD's featuring Stevie Ray Vaughn, Bob Seeger and others have become one blob of plastic. Fusion music.
A box of disposal blue nitrile gloves sits on the work bench. The fingers of the gloves reaching nearly their flash point has the fingers of the pointing up out of the box, curling as if their nearly escaped the box before being overcome.
Out of the black sooty silence I can hear a scratching. As I grab a jar of peanuts and shake it I see a little black face poke out from under the cabinet that held spray paint cans whose caps have melted but thankfully didn't explode. Louise scurries onto the workbench for her treats. Still too afraid to let me pick her up she grabs one nut and retreats behind the television that once was square and now is...sorta' roundish. Maybe Thelma will show too.
I think my major machines are OK. The drill press' caution stickers have melted and curled up on themselves as if they were hiding from the whole mess. My first successful sand mold that had me so happy at 4:00 yesterday is now a sloppy slab of clay in a box. I don't mind about that, it will give me a chance to make it better. Right now I need a sunny day for inspiration. Thanks to anybody who reads this.
I can't judge something as important as a year on just one bad day out of 18 so far.
I am vacillating between anger and thanks. Anger being the hardest feeling to modulate.
Get this. I saved a humongous bottle (nearly empty) of Jack Daniels, a small bottle of Kahlua,(new), and 4 Moosehead beers. I had already removed a bottle of Mr Boston Blackberry Brandy earlier. I am not proud of this but Jack, Mr Boston and I will most likely be very close tonight.
My 'Library' of manuals and how to books has hopefully been removed by Louise (the smart Rat) to a safe place. Doubtful at best. I anticipate nightmares. Sometime during the conflagration which lasted 20 minutes or more from discovery to a black, smokey wet climax. Willy, my cat, under quarantine, escaped. Let's hope the rats and he have reached a peace accord.
I have just finished reading "A Wind To Shake The World:The 1938 Hurricane" for anybody who wants to borrow it, email me. A seemingly fitting way to end the day, learning of the hardship of others .
7:00 a.m. Tuesday
Willy had returned in 30 minutes last night. That was good. I did have a dream about the rats. They were all black and there were 3 of them. That meant there was Thelma and Louise and a wild rat. I couldn't determine which one was the 'bad' rat. That's all I remember of the dream.
I went out in my pajamas to survey the mess in daylight. I suppose it could have been worse. I am reminded of a conversation with someone long ago.
Me, "I had a motorcycle accident in which I broke my left clavicle, 2 ribs, bones in my neck, 2 places in my right hip, my pelvis, my left femoral neck, femur and tibula and fibula, my right ankle, my tailbone, I had a collapsed lung and pneumonia along with a head injury."
Person, "Wow. You're lucky!"
Of course he meant I was lucky to be alive, but you can see my irony in his reply.
So I will say, I'm lucky that the fire wasn't worse than it was. I thought I heard some scratching around. Maybe Thelma or Louise? The acrid smell of burnt electronics that I know relates to transformers hangs in the air. The reason I know what burnt transformers smell like is because I worked making them for 3 years.
My drill press, bench grinder and compressor are on the opposite side and below most of the damage. Wooden shelves across the underside of the roof helped the fire spread from the light.
Life lesson: Suspend lights as far from ceilings as possible and leave good air space around their sides.
I wanted to switch from 4 foot lights to those twisty little screw ins. I didn't. My mind is blank as to a sentence to follow that. Maybe "I've got more excuses than a pregnant nun," is fitting.
The aluminum roof melted and buckled in 2 spots. I know that aluminum melts at around 1400 degrees. That fact wasn't on my mind as I opened the shed doors last night and had to get down on my knees to crawl in with a garden house. If it had been freezing there would be nothing left waiting for the Fire Department. It takes 7-10 minutes for emergency vehicles to get down here from the Police and Fire station.
Amid the soot blackened items there is surprising beauty. A stereo speaker cover peeled away from the speaker box as it melted. The backside of it was made with some sort of large mesh material. The mesh is distorted and stretched in a mesmerising pattern as if it were a dancer leaning over backward. A bottle of Seagram's heated to the breaking point now resembles a crown. Supreme irony in that the now missing label had an image of a crown. An aquarium light that was in storage now looks like shiny, dripping molasses. The drips hang 2 feet from the shelf.
I want to get out there and throw out as much as I can, today is garbage day. I feel that I have to start cleaning and rebuilding right away or I may just give up on my shop.
So off I go.
11:30 All I can do is stare. More amazing items catch my eye. A round plastic battery powered wall clock still hanging over my workbench looks for all the world like a Salvador Dali painting. Drooping into an egg shape it's hands stopped at 4:55. A cheap yellow coil of air hose has melted into a flat intricate swirl that reminds me of a Spirograph drawing. A newly started collection of stacked up CD's featuring Stevie Ray Vaughn, Bob Seeger and others have become one blob of plastic. Fusion music.
A box of disposal blue nitrile gloves sits on the work bench. The fingers of the gloves reaching nearly their flash point has the fingers of the pointing up out of the box, curling as if their nearly escaped the box before being overcome.
Out of the black sooty silence I can hear a scratching. As I grab a jar of peanuts and shake it I see a little black face poke out from under the cabinet that held spray paint cans whose caps have melted but thankfully didn't explode. Louise scurries onto the workbench for her treats. Still too afraid to let me pick her up she grabs one nut and retreats behind the television that once was square and now is...sorta' roundish. Maybe Thelma will show too.
I think my major machines are OK. The drill press' caution stickers have melted and curled up on themselves as if they were hiding from the whole mess. My first successful sand mold that had me so happy at 4:00 yesterday is now a sloppy slab of clay in a box. I don't mind about that, it will give me a chance to make it better. Right now I need a sunny day for inspiration. Thanks to anybody who reads this.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Parking Lot Ecosystems
I hate to seem like I'm obsessed with Walmart but I've actually noticed this some time ago.
On any given Saturday morning I often need some incidentals to keep me busy. Spray paint, hinges or charcoal are good examples. I loved it when while in the checkout line on a recent visit I had two bags of charcoal and a stove top grease splatter ring. The cashier inquisitively asked me what I will be cooking. With a wry smile I answer, "Aluminum !", and observe her confused look. I then explain it's for a home foundry and tell her it allows me to make all kinds of cool stuff. "I'll bet", she answers, closing the door on the conversation.
As I approach the plaza lot from Alden road I can see I'm on the fringe of the Parking Lot Ecosystem. I can compare Walmart to a water hole on the Serengeti.
The first species spotted is usually the Impala who cuts me off at the intersection while in flight from the parking lot. As I creep in moving as slowly and quietly as the sand beneath my tires will allow I spot another denizen of the Walmart parking lot, the Buzzard! The buzzard is identified by it's slow circling through the parking spaces looking for a freshly opened spot. It's not uncommon to spot a flock of buzzards, which is usually a good sign that it may be too risky to enter the store on this day. Too many buzzards is a sure sign that it's best to leave right away.
On this day I decide to risk it and enter the fray. Suddenly as I approach a parking spot I see him! Criminy it's a Hyena! Hyenas sweep in just as you are about to enter a parking spot and they steal the spot. Beware of the hyena's, it's best not to confront them and just move on.
I'm now headed towards the main entrance of the store and at the intersection out of nowhere comes a speeding Cheetah! Isn't he a beautiful beast with his shiny wheels! Possibly the fastest animal in this ecosystems, the cheetah loves to fly by at 30 miles per hour with no regard for other vehicles or pedestrians. The cheetah barely misses one of the slower species exiting the store, a Hippopotamus. Hippos can be identified by their slow leisurely meandering as they walk through the parking lot. Following behind hippos are usually the Jaybirds, who walk diagonally across lanes and continue through the middle of the travel ways. You may be tempted to bag a hippo or jaybird to hang it's head on the wall of your garage but be forewarned. The black and white Zebras can be lurking around the corner. Besides it's black and white colors the zebras sport a flashing blue crest. Beware the zebras.
One of the more irritating species are the Opossums, who appear to sleeping while not in an actual parking spot, but are actually waiting for somebody to back out. The opossums usually get in the way making backing out of a space very difficult while avoiding Hippos and Jays. Then there are Toads who sit anywhere they please, referring 'No Parking Zones', while they sun themselves.
The next time you happen to find yourself at Walmart, take a look around at the flourishing ecosystem you can see there. If you happen to find an unreported species please let me know.
On any given Saturday morning I often need some incidentals to keep me busy. Spray paint, hinges or charcoal are good examples. I loved it when while in the checkout line on a recent visit I had two bags of charcoal and a stove top grease splatter ring. The cashier inquisitively asked me what I will be cooking. With a wry smile I answer, "Aluminum !", and observe her confused look. I then explain it's for a home foundry and tell her it allows me to make all kinds of cool stuff. "I'll bet", she answers, closing the door on the conversation.
As I approach the plaza lot from Alden road I can see I'm on the fringe of the Parking Lot Ecosystem. I can compare Walmart to a water hole on the Serengeti.
The first species spotted is usually the Impala who cuts me off at the intersection while in flight from the parking lot. As I creep in moving as slowly and quietly as the sand beneath my tires will allow I spot another denizen of the Walmart parking lot, the Buzzard! The buzzard is identified by it's slow circling through the parking spaces looking for a freshly opened spot. It's not uncommon to spot a flock of buzzards, which is usually a good sign that it may be too risky to enter the store on this day. Too many buzzards is a sure sign that it's best to leave right away.
On this day I decide to risk it and enter the fray. Suddenly as I approach a parking spot I see him! Criminy it's a Hyena! Hyenas sweep in just as you are about to enter a parking spot and they steal the spot. Beware of the hyena's, it's best not to confront them and just move on.
I'm now headed towards the main entrance of the store and at the intersection out of nowhere comes a speeding Cheetah! Isn't he a beautiful beast with his shiny wheels! Possibly the fastest animal in this ecosystems, the cheetah loves to fly by at 30 miles per hour with no regard for other vehicles or pedestrians. The cheetah barely misses one of the slower species exiting the store, a Hippopotamus. Hippos can be identified by their slow leisurely meandering as they walk through the parking lot. Following behind hippos are usually the Jaybirds, who walk diagonally across lanes and continue through the middle of the travel ways. You may be tempted to bag a hippo or jaybird to hang it's head on the wall of your garage but be forewarned. The black and white Zebras can be lurking around the corner. Besides it's black and white colors the zebras sport a flashing blue crest. Beware the zebras.
One of the more irritating species are the Opossums, who appear to sleeping while not in an actual parking spot, but are actually waiting for somebody to back out. The opossums usually get in the way making backing out of a space very difficult while avoiding Hippos and Jays. Then there are Toads who sit anywhere they please, referring 'No Parking Zones', while they sun themselves.
The next time you happen to find yourself at Walmart, take a look around at the flourishing ecosystem you can see there. If you happen to find an unreported species please let me know.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Foundry Flourishes!
Two posts in one day! I actually have several posts in draft form. The Mayan Calendar idea actually came as a dream. I am fortunate to be able to remember some of my dreams.
So the third clay foundry I have made seems to be holding together, even at 1400 + degrees. The lid didn't fare so well, as the other 2 did, it cracked to pieces. I noticed a 25 pound barbell weight laying around and it happened to fit quite well. A test firing of the foundry didn't end up well. The aluminum ended up in a big mass and it stuck in the stainless steel sugar canister I used as a crucible to melt in. I suspect the 25 pound weight "stole" too much heat from the foundry. The clay lids act as an insulator. I later found a disc brake rotor that fit as a lid and gave it it try today. Everything went nearly textbook! I have made a 5 inch steel pipe into a crucible and despite a small dribble of molten aluminum from the bottom of the vessel everything was fine. You can see the pipe with molten aluminum in the above picture. She ain't pretty but she's hot!
I used aluminum pie plates, disposable roaster pans and an old gas grill I hammered to pieces small enough to fit into the foundry. If you place large aluminum pieces over an open fire for a few minutes they break easily with a hammer. All told today I netted about 2 pounds of alloy. Probably 8 pounds short of what i will need to cast a metal lathe. looks like I have to eat more pie! I used a muffin tin for molding my ingots after I skimmed the dross from the melt.
You can see the nice shiny "biscuits" in the picture.
Considering my use of a homemade clay foundry, fueled by charcoal and a hairdryer for an added air charge and all the tools I used for skimming and pouring and capped by an old brake rotor I am extremely satisfied. Just as an addendum, I do use leather welding gloves and apron along with a face shield. This can be dangerous stuff. The heavy plank I placed the muffin tin on to pour my alloy was burned about a quarter of an inch deep and smoked for more than 20 minutes.
As a closer I have added a picture of the "Nokatay-Rat's Nest Shop" doors painted a few months ago by my nephew Justin
The Mayan Calandar
I have made a discovery regarding the Mayan Calendar. I know why the Mayan (c. 2000 BC to 250 AD), chose December 21, 2012 as the last day of their calendar.
They were sick and tired of the Christmas Holiday shopping season.
It's true. You see Christ's true birthday is rumored to be in August or earlier, depending on what source you use.
So theoretically, just as today, Mayan Christmas items were on sale in August. I say theoretically because that is only true for the Christian Mayans who were few and far between.
I also believe I have answered another riddle regarding the Mayans. Their great stone temples were not temples at all. They were ancient Walmarts. After careful study of pictures of Mayan temples I see that they were made in a stepped wall fashion. Obviously these were display shelves. Much like modern up scale department stores the more expensive items were kept on the upper tiers. This made it harder for shoplifters to get away quickly with expensive goods. And so this proves another point. Shoplifters became human sacrifices.
Another clue to the Temple/Walmart discovery is in the stone carvings. If you look very closely and squint real hard you can see smiley faces. Rollbacks!
Proof positive of my hypothesis.
The grand stairways on which the Mayan calendars were carved must have actually been the Walmart checkout line. Having a calendar in the checkout line was useful with such a long line. Walmart has since realized that having time telling devices in view of the checkout lines are a bad idea.
In the time of the Mayas writing and math skills were for only the royals and clerics. This made it easy to rip off the average Mayan. Merchandise returns were handled in the human sacrifice department. There were few returns.
Mayans who had been given items as gifts that they had no use for found a way to exchange them for cash. It was just a quick trip to the Great Plains of America. Once there a certain Indian tribe was happy to exchange the items or offer a loan on the item. These Indians were known as the Pawnees.
I feel there is a little more work to do in proving my theory. So I shall continue to provide updates on this discovery.
(This Blog is intended to offend no one. It is purely satire.)
They were sick and tired of the Christmas Holiday shopping season.
It's true. You see Christ's true birthday is rumored to be in August or earlier, depending on what source you use.
So theoretically, just as today, Mayan Christmas items were on sale in August. I say theoretically because that is only true for the Christian Mayans who were few and far between.
I also believe I have answered another riddle regarding the Mayans. Their great stone temples were not temples at all. They were ancient Walmarts. After careful study of pictures of Mayan temples I see that they were made in a stepped wall fashion. Obviously these were display shelves. Much like modern up scale department stores the more expensive items were kept on the upper tiers. This made it harder for shoplifters to get away quickly with expensive goods. And so this proves another point. Shoplifters became human sacrifices.
Another clue to the Temple/Walmart discovery is in the stone carvings. If you look very closely and squint real hard you can see smiley faces. Rollbacks!
Proof positive of my hypothesis.
The grand stairways on which the Mayan calendars were carved must have actually been the Walmart checkout line. Having a calendar in the checkout line was useful with such a long line. Walmart has since realized that having time telling devices in view of the checkout lines are a bad idea.
In the time of the Mayas writing and math skills were for only the royals and clerics. This made it easy to rip off the average Mayan. Merchandise returns were handled in the human sacrifice department. There were few returns.
Mayans who had been given items as gifts that they had no use for found a way to exchange them for cash. It was just a quick trip to the Great Plains of America. Once there a certain Indian tribe was happy to exchange the items or offer a loan on the item. These Indians were known as the Pawnees.
I feel there is a little more work to do in proving my theory. So I shall continue to provide updates on this discovery.
(This Blog is intended to offend no one. It is purely satire.)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I am not a Crook! But I know a guy who knows a guy
I can actually remember trying to decide if I wanted to be a good guy or a bad guy. I was about 5 or 6 years old. Either occupation seemed to have it's advantages. Joe Friday was a heck of a good guy. Joyous is not a word someone would use to describe Joe, but he always managed a smile or two each show. The bad guys on Batman seemed to have a lot of fun, but getting all those BIFFS and BAMS on the chin didn't seem like a good time to me.
I reckoned I should try each profession out for a while and see what had the best to offer. While not technically a deliberate crime, at the age of 6 I set the woods on the corner of Dogwood street and Causeway road on fire. There was this little pit there, probably a past attempt at a perk test, that made a cool trench for playing army. I was "dug in" one day and decided I needed a camp fire and lit some dead grass to warm my rations on. Before I could react the whole grass lined pit was ablaze. I tried to stamp it out with my foot but it was futile. Doing the next smartest thing I could think of, I ran.
I ran home and went right up to my room and listened as the fire engine raced down the Neck road and onto the Causeway. Peeking out my upstairs window I could see people straining their necks to see what was going on up at the corner. Looking back now I imagine my mother had somewhat of a suspicion when I didn't come running down the stairs and jump on my bike at the first sound of a siren.
As kids we had a good response time to emergency calls. We would all gather at the top of the hill at the first sound of the sirens. We would then spread out to the corner of each street, Dogwood, Cottonwood and the others. If none of us saw a anything out of the normal the kid at Balsam would head south, the direction with the most area and most likely to be the location. Of course we had no idea of what we were looking for. We expected to find a train wreck or an apartment building on fire. Keep in mind there are no train tracks or apartment buildings on the Island. Our system never worked because even if we were on the right street they went flying by and we had to pedal like hell to follow them.
My staying in the house was a good move as it turned out. With in a few minutes I heard voices downstairs and my mother was calling for me. I did the smartest thing. I hid in the attic. My mother and the male voice came up stairs and looked for me and soon the man left. Before I heard the gate click close my mother opened the attic door and dragged me down stairs and started grilling me. I knew how the criminals being interrogated under the lamp felt, I was sweating bullets. Every time Mom banged her hand on the counter demanding to know "what were you thinking?" I thought of the rubber hose whacking the guy being "sweated".
I denied everything of course, as the soot ran down my forehead from the sweat. It was then that Mom took me up the street, to see the carnage I had created I assumed, but it was to retrieve my bicycle. It seems in the heat of the moment in natural my urge to fight or flight I forgot my bike. Holy cow, Batman! That's like a bank robber leaving a car registered to him at the scene of the crime! The devastation I imagined that I had created was nothing more than a 3 foot spot of burned grass. Seems it burned itself out during the 7 or 8 minutes it takes for the fire engine to arrive.
I had to tell my Dad what I had done when he got home. That was probably the hardest thing I had ever done in my life at that time. Worse than when Frank Coelho's dog Sarge bit me on the back of the head and I got 14 stitches. Of course I got the "strap". Three whacks on a bare butt. Oh the humanity!
My next foray into the underworld happened at Mammoth Mart. A Kresge type store which was locacted where Shaw's is today. We had ridden our bikes up the Neck and were flexing our muscles with this new found freedom as 8 years olds will do. My friend Rick Rucker showed me how to steal Matchbox cars. You open the package and put the car in your pocket. That's it. Seemed simple. I opened 10 packages and stuffed the cars in my pockets. As I walked by a mirror in the shoe department I realized that with my overloaded pockets I looked like a Canadian Mounted Police. I ditched the cars in the light bulb aisle. I walked out a new man. An honest man of 8 wisened years.
It wasn't too long after that patches became a big fad. Jean patches, jacket patches. Peace signs, love thmes and American flags among them. These were cool! Really cool. And thin. I coulf fit a few of these in my pockets and no one would even know! I used restraint and stole 4. When I got them home I checked them out to see where I wanted them sewn. SEWING! Ahhh, cheez!! They gotta be SEWN! I can't sew. If I ask my Mom to sew them she'll know I stole them (Moms can see right through even real good lies). That ended the Great Patch Caper.
By 12 years old I think my criminal enterprises were in the past. Oh, we still rode around on our bikes and kicked over Wally Bithers trash cans every Wednesday night. Trash collection was on Thursdays then. Glenn and Scott West said we did that because Wally's dog Sam would chase us, but it seems he only chased us because we kicked over the trash cans. But it was still fun to out run Sam. Eventually I got the Island paper route and had to become a respectable businessman in the neighborhood.
When I was in my twenties I was approached by one of my customers at Budget Rent A Car. Bob Mosher was a Boston guy who rented a car from us a month at a time. Instead of cash he paid in merchandise. Expensive cameras, video tapes and assorted items. This was deal between him and my boss Bill Deveraux. The name Devereuax was Irish Bill contended even though everyone thought it was French. He provided a map of Ireland to prove there is a County Deveraux. So now he was OK with Irish Bob Mosher. Bob asked me if I was Irish and I told him my grandmother Dehlia (Murdock) was from Ireland. I was OK with Bill now too. I was too naive at the time to realize but Bob was part of the Boston Irish Winter Hill Gang, of Whitey Bulger fame. In our conversation Bob asked if I drank, and I boasted how much I could drink. That right there was when Bob said, "Oh I can't use you then." Seems gangsters don't like drinkers because they run their mouths too much. My drinking probably saved me from an eventual prison stretch.
Another guy I worked with in the late 1990's was a great guy. Donnie Lafond had a bad habit of punching in late on our 2nd shift. He would then go into a corner of the plant and start counting money. Lots of money! Like $3000 or so. The first time I saw him counting out cash I said, "Hey, that's a lot of cash!"
Donny said, "Yeah, needs some?", and picked up a wad of about 400 bucks and held it out.
"No, no thanks", I said. I got a 10 pound bag of frozen chicken legs this week. I'm all set."
"Well, anytime," offered Donny. I would see him counting cash about twice a week.
Once during break time someone asked Donny where he gets all the money. He explained that he and his buddy would go to Boston and rob drug dealers. We all let out a collective 'Ooooohhhhh," nodding approvingly.
Well hey, that's all right! Rob the bad guys, helll yeah! Boston, there must be a ton of bad guys there! Great gig if you got the heuvos.
A few weeks later I was reading the newspaper and there was an article about a bank robbery. The article had a surveillance photo. It sure looked like Donny to me. The next day at work Donny and I were in the washroom and I cautiously mentioned that I had a seen a picture that reminded me of him. "Where was that Donny asked?"
"In a bank robbery surveillance photo,'" I said meekly.
"Oh shit. Don't go around saying things like that around here, you know how people are!" he moaned.
That was the last time we saw Donny in person. He went to lunch and never came back. Less than a week later though Donny was spotted on TV. One of the guys came in and was very excited. He said he saw the police were chasing 3 bank robbers. The chase started in Cranston, RI and ended at the Connecticut border on I-95. The story showed film of Donny being led away in handcuffs, tons of money stuffed in his belt and full of blood. There were reports of gunshots being fired at the officers. It turned out that his gun wasn't loaded but was pointed at the pursuers during the chase. The blood was the exploding red dye pack in the money bag. Donny and his crew ended up in Federal Prison for 20 years, although he did escape once while being transported and was caught a few hours later.
Donny had a severe drug habit and was robbing banks to fund his habit. Last I heard he was doing well in prison.
Me, I prefer to be stuck here on West Island, driving my Jeep through puddles. Sometime I do chuckle when I make the corner of Dogwood street and Causeway road. You see, that little Army trench is still visible if you look real hard.
I reckoned I should try each profession out for a while and see what had the best to offer. While not technically a deliberate crime, at the age of 6 I set the woods on the corner of Dogwood street and Causeway road on fire. There was this little pit there, probably a past attempt at a perk test, that made a cool trench for playing army. I was "dug in" one day and decided I needed a camp fire and lit some dead grass to warm my rations on. Before I could react the whole grass lined pit was ablaze. I tried to stamp it out with my foot but it was futile. Doing the next smartest thing I could think of, I ran.
I ran home and went right up to my room and listened as the fire engine raced down the Neck road and onto the Causeway. Peeking out my upstairs window I could see people straining their necks to see what was going on up at the corner. Looking back now I imagine my mother had somewhat of a suspicion when I didn't come running down the stairs and jump on my bike at the first sound of a siren.
As kids we had a good response time to emergency calls. We would all gather at the top of the hill at the first sound of the sirens. We would then spread out to the corner of each street, Dogwood, Cottonwood and the others. If none of us saw a anything out of the normal the kid at Balsam would head south, the direction with the most area and most likely to be the location. Of course we had no idea of what we were looking for. We expected to find a train wreck or an apartment building on fire. Keep in mind there are no train tracks or apartment buildings on the Island. Our system never worked because even if we were on the right street they went flying by and we had to pedal like hell to follow them.
My staying in the house was a good move as it turned out. With in a few minutes I heard voices downstairs and my mother was calling for me. I did the smartest thing. I hid in the attic. My mother and the male voice came up stairs and looked for me and soon the man left. Before I heard the gate click close my mother opened the attic door and dragged me down stairs and started grilling me. I knew how the criminals being interrogated under the lamp felt, I was sweating bullets. Every time Mom banged her hand on the counter demanding to know "what were you thinking?" I thought of the rubber hose whacking the guy being "sweated".
I denied everything of course, as the soot ran down my forehead from the sweat. It was then that Mom took me up the street, to see the carnage I had created I assumed, but it was to retrieve my bicycle. It seems in the heat of the moment in natural my urge to fight or flight I forgot my bike. Holy cow, Batman! That's like a bank robber leaving a car registered to him at the scene of the crime! The devastation I imagined that I had created was nothing more than a 3 foot spot of burned grass. Seems it burned itself out during the 7 or 8 minutes it takes for the fire engine to arrive.
I had to tell my Dad what I had done when he got home. That was probably the hardest thing I had ever done in my life at that time. Worse than when Frank Coelho's dog Sarge bit me on the back of the head and I got 14 stitches. Of course I got the "strap". Three whacks on a bare butt. Oh the humanity!
My next foray into the underworld happened at Mammoth Mart. A Kresge type store which was locacted where Shaw's is today. We had ridden our bikes up the Neck and were flexing our muscles with this new found freedom as 8 years olds will do. My friend Rick Rucker showed me how to steal Matchbox cars. You open the package and put the car in your pocket. That's it. Seemed simple. I opened 10 packages and stuffed the cars in my pockets. As I walked by a mirror in the shoe department I realized that with my overloaded pockets I looked like a Canadian Mounted Police. I ditched the cars in the light bulb aisle. I walked out a new man. An honest man of 8 wisened years.
It wasn't too long after that patches became a big fad. Jean patches, jacket patches. Peace signs, love thmes and American flags among them. These were cool! Really cool. And thin. I coulf fit a few of these in my pockets and no one would even know! I used restraint and stole 4. When I got them home I checked them out to see where I wanted them sewn. SEWING! Ahhh, cheez!! They gotta be SEWN! I can't sew. If I ask my Mom to sew them she'll know I stole them (Moms can see right through even real good lies). That ended the Great Patch Caper.
By 12 years old I think my criminal enterprises were in the past. Oh, we still rode around on our bikes and kicked over Wally Bithers trash cans every Wednesday night. Trash collection was on Thursdays then. Glenn and Scott West said we did that because Wally's dog Sam would chase us, but it seems he only chased us because we kicked over the trash cans. But it was still fun to out run Sam. Eventually I got the Island paper route and had to become a respectable businessman in the neighborhood.
When I was in my twenties I was approached by one of my customers at Budget Rent A Car. Bob Mosher was a Boston guy who rented a car from us a month at a time. Instead of cash he paid in merchandise. Expensive cameras, video tapes and assorted items. This was deal between him and my boss Bill Deveraux. The name Devereuax was Irish Bill contended even though everyone thought it was French. He provided a map of Ireland to prove there is a County Deveraux. So now he was OK with Irish Bob Mosher. Bob asked me if I was Irish and I told him my grandmother Dehlia (Murdock) was from Ireland. I was OK with Bill now too. I was too naive at the time to realize but Bob was part of the Boston Irish Winter Hill Gang, of Whitey Bulger fame. In our conversation Bob asked if I drank, and I boasted how much I could drink. That right there was when Bob said, "Oh I can't use you then." Seems gangsters don't like drinkers because they run their mouths too much. My drinking probably saved me from an eventual prison stretch.
Another guy I worked with in the late 1990's was a great guy. Donnie Lafond had a bad habit of punching in late on our 2nd shift. He would then go into a corner of the plant and start counting money. Lots of money! Like $3000 or so. The first time I saw him counting out cash I said, "Hey, that's a lot of cash!"
Donny said, "Yeah, needs some?", and picked up a wad of about 400 bucks and held it out.
"No, no thanks", I said. I got a 10 pound bag of frozen chicken legs this week. I'm all set."
"Well, anytime," offered Donny. I would see him counting cash about twice a week.
Once during break time someone asked Donny where he gets all the money. He explained that he and his buddy would go to Boston and rob drug dealers. We all let out a collective 'Ooooohhhhh," nodding approvingly.
Well hey, that's all right! Rob the bad guys, helll yeah! Boston, there must be a ton of bad guys there! Great gig if you got the heuvos.
A few weeks later I was reading the newspaper and there was an article about a bank robbery. The article had a surveillance photo. It sure looked like Donny to me. The next day at work Donny and I were in the washroom and I cautiously mentioned that I had a seen a picture that reminded me of him. "Where was that Donny asked?"
"In a bank robbery surveillance photo,'" I said meekly.
"Oh shit. Don't go around saying things like that around here, you know how people are!" he moaned.
That was the last time we saw Donny in person. He went to lunch and never came back. Less than a week later though Donny was spotted on TV. One of the guys came in and was very excited. He said he saw the police were chasing 3 bank robbers. The chase started in Cranston, RI and ended at the Connecticut border on I-95. The story showed film of Donny being led away in handcuffs, tons of money stuffed in his belt and full of blood. There were reports of gunshots being fired at the officers. It turned out that his gun wasn't loaded but was pointed at the pursuers during the chase. The blood was the exploding red dye pack in the money bag. Donny and his crew ended up in Federal Prison for 20 years, although he did escape once while being transported and was caught a few hours later.
Donny had a severe drug habit and was robbing banks to fund his habit. Last I heard he was doing well in prison.
Me, I prefer to be stuck here on West Island, driving my Jeep through puddles. Sometime I do chuckle when I make the corner of Dogwood street and Causeway road. You see, that little Army trench is still visible if you look real hard.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Floundering Foundry and Thelmas Addictions
As seems the case with other Bloggers (you know who you all are!), I haven't made an entry in quite a while. After a piss poor start to the year my health has improved and I feel strong, well comparatively speaking, of course.
Bi-lateral lumbar radiography (they stick needles in your back and zap the nerves!) has been great for me and a brace made by Matt Hebert of Precision Orthotics has been fantastic. Stacey actually told to slow down while I was walking down the stairs at Dianne and Roland's after a meeting!
As some of you know I decided to fabricate a wood stove out of 1/8" steel plate from a set of discarded cellar bulkhead doors. The result was a fascinatingly grotesque device that resembles a part that has fallen off a steam locomotive. The idea of a "free' wood stove sounded too good to pass up. It was a lot of fun and great for building my fabrication skills but wasn't quite free. The seemingly nominal cost of nuts and bolts kept growing with each added seam. The worn drill bits and cutting disks added to the bill. When my little 5 gallon compressor died a sudden death from overuse powering my air drill everything came to a screeching halt. "What shall I do, I thought?"
While retrieving the mail that day the answer came in booming giant red letters on a flyer in the box.
HARBOR FREIGHT TOOLS
My desired compressor was on SALE! The 21 gallon 3 horsepower model was 40 bucks off! I could save 40 bucks. Somehow the fact that I was spending more than 160 bucks never entered my mind.
Eventually the wood stove was nearly complete. I tried to fabricate a stove pipe from big coffee cans. Don't throw stones at me, it only took a few hours and cut fingers before I realized that a coffee can stove pipe was not a good idea. Off to Home Depot.
You gotta love a gimongous warehouse that has a whole row of motion activated lights set to "test." It's hard not to look like an idiot dancing around trying to make them replicate the laser light show at a Pink Floyd concert. Next time I think I'll put a 4" band aid on my forehead while I jump around in their lighting aisle. People wondering what went wrong in my life will see the big band aid and not point. They'll just shrug their shoulders and drag off their confused kids warning them not to jump off roofs.
I found my stove pipes and a real flue and even some hi temp caulking good to 2000 degrees. I haven't tested it yet, but it's on the to do list.
So the stove is in the shed heating nicely. People either love it or cringe at it. I gotta move the bag of charcoal stored next to it.
During the stove project I happened upon an interesting project. Building a metal turning lathe from scrap. I always wanted one of those! Since I have a unused electric motor from the old compressor it must have been an idea sent from the Gods "Craftsman" and '"Black Decker"!
I promptly ordered the first second and fourth books from the 7 book series, "Building Your Own Metal Working Shop From Scrap". It would be unlike me to read all the directions in order, and not much of a challenge to boot! Actually the 3rd book is a metal shaper which seems duplicitous of a milling machine, but it turns out it may be necessary. Time will tell.
Book one is "The Charcoal Foundry" and is fairly simple. Build a hollow tube with a bottom out of clay. "Hey, I made ashtrays in 1st grade! I can do this." (I skipped Kindergarten. They said I was advanced enough for 1st grade. I wonder if they were disturbed by my Tinkertoy skills?)
I began scrounging materials. After many phone calls I sourced a supply of red clay from a ceramics supply in Braintree. Sure it's a long way to get $30 worth of clay but it's near Ikea. Since I have finally got REAL bed I decided I might find something useful there. By the way, I burned the crumbling old futon frame I had been sleeping on. It heated up quite nicely in the wood stove.
I didn't follow the arrows at Ikea (the awesome smells emanating from the cafeteria got me confused. Sweedish meatballs! ohhhhhh!) and wandered back and forth , hopping through shortcuts. I found some biggg black and white pictures, cowhides and a really cool man cave made from a loft bed and sofa. Another guy and I stood in front of it like Ralphie Parker lusted after his Red Ryder BB Gun (they have Red Ryders at Harbor Freight Tools! And for a hoot check this! http://www.bettysattic.com/website/store/product_detail.asp?UID=&item_no=56147&keyword=BBOB&cat_keyword=BBOB&search_page_no=1&WT.svl=56147 ) )
But nothing for my bed. Too much sensory overload. To balance my chi I headed off to HF Tools.
As I am wont to do, I mixed construction techniques and clay formulas and they were incompatible. Hmrmph. Mixing recipes works in baking. After forming the clay, sand and water mix you need to fire it by starting a wood fire then after it stops steaming you add charcoal to the top and put on the lid to let it burn and cool all night. The entire foundry crumbled after when I checked it in the morning. On to Foundry 2.0.
I pounded all the pieces of the failed foundry and remixed it with more clay, reformed it and refired it. Only 2 small cracks this time. It eventually failed when the 2 small cracks migrated to form 2 pieces of foundry. It split right in half, well maybe 1/3 and 2/3's. So...more pounding of clay into grog and then I will remix the fire clay and start all over. I believe I have remedied the problem by removing the inner wall car board tube form. The clay seems to shrink during firing but the tube remains the same size.
While all this fun stuff I have, of course been spending much time in the Shop. The shop that has a wood stove, stereo and cable tv with a neat little converter box all non HD cable connected tv's will require soon. So I'm ahead of that already. The shop needs a recliner. I perusing Craigslist. And wondering how the hell I can fit one more item in that shed.
It's bad enough the rats, you know, Thelma and Louise, seem to knock things over at night looking for who knows what. They subside on a diet mainly of Cheerios and corn flakes and they lovvve peanuts in the shell. And what are peanuts without beer, right. Well rats are no different and they get a couple of bottle caps full of beer now and then. But the blackberry brandy and cigars have got to stop! I can't leave a shot glass around without them tipping it over and having a party! Once they get liquored up on beer and brandy they have stolen my cigars. Both stubs and lit ones. I can't figure out why they want cigars, I don't let them play with matches. I have switched to a pipe.
In all seriousness they are wonderful pets. They expect a greeting, being scratched behind the ears or picked up and rummage through my pockets for peanuts. Louise got stuck in the lining of my jacket searching for her legumes. My coat was pulsing and throbbing like some kind of Hollywood special effect until I could get her out. I am amazed that they are not disturbed by the noise of the compressor or me banging on things and I actually have to be careful when sawing or hammering because they are so curious they will go right to the most dangerous point, the blade or point of impact.
I hope everyon had a great Thanksgiving. I ate a plate of leftovers as I typed this out. Time for a piece of fudge, some brandy and a smoke.
And I ain't sharing.
Bi-lateral lumbar radiography (they stick needles in your back and zap the nerves!) has been great for me and a brace made by Matt Hebert of Precision Orthotics has been fantastic. Stacey actually told to slow down while I was walking down the stairs at Dianne and Roland's after a meeting!
As some of you know I decided to fabricate a wood stove out of 1/8" steel plate from a set of discarded cellar bulkhead doors. The result was a fascinatingly grotesque device that resembles a part that has fallen off a steam locomotive. The idea of a "free' wood stove sounded too good to pass up. It was a lot of fun and great for building my fabrication skills but wasn't quite free. The seemingly nominal cost of nuts and bolts kept growing with each added seam. The worn drill bits and cutting disks added to the bill. When my little 5 gallon compressor died a sudden death from overuse powering my air drill everything came to a screeching halt. "What shall I do, I thought?"
While retrieving the mail that day the answer came in booming giant red letters on a flyer in the box.
HARBOR FREIGHT TOOLS
My desired compressor was on SALE! The 21 gallon 3 horsepower model was 40 bucks off! I could save 40 bucks. Somehow the fact that I was spending more than 160 bucks never entered my mind.
Eventually the wood stove was nearly complete. I tried to fabricate a stove pipe from big coffee cans. Don't throw stones at me, it only took a few hours and cut fingers before I realized that a coffee can stove pipe was not a good idea. Off to Home Depot.
You gotta love a gimongous warehouse that has a whole row of motion activated lights set to "test." It's hard not to look like an idiot dancing around trying to make them replicate the laser light show at a Pink Floyd concert. Next time I think I'll put a 4" band aid on my forehead while I jump around in their lighting aisle. People wondering what went wrong in my life will see the big band aid and not point. They'll just shrug their shoulders and drag off their confused kids warning them not to jump off roofs.
I found my stove pipes and a real flue and even some hi temp caulking good to 2000 degrees. I haven't tested it yet, but it's on the to do list.
So the stove is in the shed heating nicely. People either love it or cringe at it. I gotta move the bag of charcoal stored next to it.
During the stove project I happened upon an interesting project. Building a metal turning lathe from scrap. I always wanted one of those! Since I have a unused electric motor from the old compressor it must have been an idea sent from the Gods "Craftsman" and '"Black Decker"!
I promptly ordered the first second and fourth books from the 7 book series, "Building Your Own Metal Working Shop From Scrap". It would be unlike me to read all the directions in order, and not much of a challenge to boot! Actually the 3rd book is a metal shaper which seems duplicitous of a milling machine, but it turns out it may be necessary. Time will tell.
Book one is "The Charcoal Foundry" and is fairly simple. Build a hollow tube with a bottom out of clay. "Hey, I made ashtrays in 1st grade! I can do this." (I skipped Kindergarten. They said I was advanced enough for 1st grade. I wonder if they were disturbed by my Tinkertoy skills?)
I began scrounging materials. After many phone calls I sourced a supply of red clay from a ceramics supply in Braintree. Sure it's a long way to get $30 worth of clay but it's near Ikea. Since I have finally got REAL bed I decided I might find something useful there. By the way, I burned the crumbling old futon frame I had been sleeping on. It heated up quite nicely in the wood stove.
I didn't follow the arrows at Ikea (the awesome smells emanating from the cafeteria got me confused. Sweedish meatballs! ohhhhhh!) and wandered back and forth , hopping through shortcuts. I found some biggg black and white pictures, cowhides and a really cool man cave made from a loft bed and sofa. Another guy and I stood in front of it like Ralphie Parker lusted after his Red Ryder BB Gun (they have Red Ryders at Harbor Freight Tools! And for a hoot check this! http://www.bettysattic.com/website/store/product_detail.asp?UID=&item_no=56147&keyword=BBOB&cat_keyword=BBOB&search_page_no=1&WT.svl=56147 ) )
But nothing for my bed. Too much sensory overload. To balance my chi I headed off to HF Tools.
As I am wont to do, I mixed construction techniques and clay formulas and they were incompatible. Hmrmph. Mixing recipes works in baking. After forming the clay, sand and water mix you need to fire it by starting a wood fire then after it stops steaming you add charcoal to the top and put on the lid to let it burn and cool all night. The entire foundry crumbled after when I checked it in the morning. On to Foundry 2.0.
I pounded all the pieces of the failed foundry and remixed it with more clay, reformed it and refired it. Only 2 small cracks this time. It eventually failed when the 2 small cracks migrated to form 2 pieces of foundry. It split right in half, well maybe 1/3 and 2/3's. So...more pounding of clay into grog and then I will remix the fire clay and start all over. I believe I have remedied the problem by removing the inner wall car board tube form. The clay seems to shrink during firing but the tube remains the same size.
While all this fun stuff I have, of course been spending much time in the Shop. The shop that has a wood stove, stereo and cable tv with a neat little converter box all non HD cable connected tv's will require soon. So I'm ahead of that already. The shop needs a recliner. I perusing Craigslist. And wondering how the hell I can fit one more item in that shed.
It's bad enough the rats, you know, Thelma and Louise, seem to knock things over at night looking for who knows what. They subside on a diet mainly of Cheerios and corn flakes and they lovvve peanuts in the shell. And what are peanuts without beer, right. Well rats are no different and they get a couple of bottle caps full of beer now and then. But the blackberry brandy and cigars have got to stop! I can't leave a shot glass around without them tipping it over and having a party! Once they get liquored up on beer and brandy they have stolen my cigars. Both stubs and lit ones. I can't figure out why they want cigars, I don't let them play with matches. I have switched to a pipe.
In all seriousness they are wonderful pets. They expect a greeting, being scratched behind the ears or picked up and rummage through my pockets for peanuts. Louise got stuck in the lining of my jacket searching for her legumes. My coat was pulsing and throbbing like some kind of Hollywood special effect until I could get her out. I am amazed that they are not disturbed by the noise of the compressor or me banging on things and I actually have to be careful when sawing or hammering because they are so curious they will go right to the most dangerous point, the blade or point of impact.
I hope everyon had a great Thanksgiving. I ate a plate of leftovers as I typed this out. Time for a piece of fudge, some brandy and a smoke.
And I ain't sharing.
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