Got it.
$40.00-not too bad. Better than sixty. The water bed is draining and it looks like I have a while. I think I've got enough time to not only tell the two'Dad' stories, but also enough time to clean out the rabbit cages and get them in here. There are also a few dishes, a few loads of clothes. Not a lot.
So far, it's still calm here. You can see the same few stars you usually can. (It's so lit up around this area, it's hard to see many of them anyway.) Crickets and tree frog-things are still chirping. No rain. No wind. Yet. They just showed on the news that it's supposed to be headed through Pa. more toward the west than where we are. We're supposed to be getting the eastern edge of it here. Of course, that could change 42 times between now and when it actually gets here. Whatever. The reason Dad'll shit if he gets to see my page in German is because he speaks it. The reason he speaks it is because he's been to Germany about 10 times. The reason he's been to Germany so many times, is that he was stationed there in the Army...along with someone else. If ya know who I mean. They never met, I don't think, they were just there at the same time. Dad fell in love with the place and took my mom there for vacation. I got to go the last time. It is beautiful. It looks pretty much like "The Sound of Music" leads you to think, even though that was shot in Austria. (We went there for a day, too. I almost killed myself trying to jump over a chain partition..got my foot hooked and BOOM in front of about 50 people.) I also had the distinct displeasure of being bitten by the first horse ever...right on the boob. I'd had horses for years. I gotta fly 16 hours to Germany to get bit. Figures. Hell, I had to travel for five days to California in a Peterbilt to get bit by my first ever dog. I thought he would be cool, too, man. He was wearing a bandana. Lil' turd. The bigger dog who was with him, bit him when he bit me. I hope his name was Karma. Anyway, Germany is gorgeous, the people are pretty nice and I'd highly recommend going there if ya have the means. The second Dad story is the one Ted reminded me of. It was July of '81. My Dad had a beautiful black Ford F-150 with a red interior and red stripes. I loved that truck and drove it as often as I could. Dad got this truck after he totalled his Chevy hitting a telephone pole while bending over to pick up a gallon of milk off the floor on a slight curve. He wasn't going too fast and he was okay, but the truck was totalled. The worst part was that he was, like, three payments away from having it paid off.So, he got the Ford. Flash forward about three years or so and I'm drivin' the hell outta this truck. I remember being at Cowtown one day. That's the local rodeo/livestock sale and two-times-a-week-flea-market in Salem Co. I happened to be there one of the few days a week there wasn't something happening. I had driven right up to the arena gate to do something, which I can't remember. Probably because I scared myself so bad over that truck. When I parked it on the hill outside the arena, I put the emergency brake on. After I got done doing whatever-in-the-hell I was doing, I got back in, put it in reverse, went down the hill, put it in drive and went no where. I couldn't get it to do anything except back up. I was freakin'! I thought I had screwed up Dad's truck. I backed from the arena area all the way across this place, about a 1/4 mile, til I found one of the bullriders who happened to live there....Jimmie Lee Walker. I saw him and told him what was going on. He saw I was scared to death, so he hopped in, looked it over, put it in drive, PULLED THE EMERGENCY BRAKE and went forward just as nice as you please. I felt like such a dork....So, anyway, one day in early July, I got up and was reading the local paper. I happened to notice that someone was giving away a Keeshond. So, I went, looked at him and brought him home...in spite of his continual growling. I decided to take the dog over to Daretown Lake to hang out and learn to quit growlin' at me. So, off we go. We had a pretty good time. Til we left. By the time we left, we were getting along a lot better. We were both in the cab of the truck. I had just left the parking lot. I swear I didn't get as far as two telephone poles. I reached a top speed of 15 MPH. I noticed the dog was panting and drooling on the seat, so I went to wipe his mouth off so he wouldn't be spitting on the seat and when I looked over at him, I slightly turned the wheel, apparently. I looked back just in time to see the telephone pole coming at me, so I jerked the wheel to the left and just missed hitting that thing with the dead center of the hood. I hit my face on the steering wheel and broke off a tooth, the dog jumped out the window and there I was. I vaguely remember this old man on a bicycle slowly pedalling by, staring at me while I wandered around with blood on me going "Beep!" "Beep!!" I wasn't crazy, that was that dog's name and no I didn't name him that. Pretty soon this lady came out of a nearby house, probably to see why her electricty went off and she called my Dad and the cops for me. A friend of mine showed up and all I could do was look over my shoulder from in his arms, I was shaking like you wouldn't have believed, and say "I broke Dad's truck. I broke Dad's truck." It was worse than broke. Yep...say it with me...It Was Totalled. At 15 stinkin' miles an hour. This time there were about 6 payments left.
I fully expected Dad to be pissed, but he wasn't. In fact, when he saw the blood from my split lip and busted off tooth, he had tears in his eyes. Which only made me feel worse. When the Staties got done with me, we went to the hospital, then the dentist, then Dad-brave man that he is-let me drive home from the dentist. I dropped him off at home, went back to the lake and found the dog. He was hiding under a picnic table. I had to tie his leash to the doorhandle on the inside and roll up his window to keep him in that car to get him home. Apparently, he'd had about enough of my driving, thanks.
The snot.
Anyway, I got a big 'ol prescription of wookie pills and all I could eat was soup, for the most part. A few days later, Dad went to the store, got me more soup...a bunch of kinds. Then he came home, made me some and gave me the bowl with the straw in it. It was a kind I hadn't had before but it looked and smelled really good. It was cream of chicken. It had bits of mushroom too. Which, for as good as they are, are NOT compatible with your basic straw. I sitting there, watching TV, suckin' up my soup and all of a sudden...occlusion! I almost sucked my face inside out. I pulled the straw outta my mouth and the soup and looked at the end of it. There, jammed about half way in was a sizeable hunk of 'shroom. I fell out laughing and when Dad looked over and saw what was up, he cracked up, too. He denied it, but I swear that was 'Dad karma' for wreckin' his truck. He bought one more really nice Ford pickup after that. That one he sold about a year before it was paid off. I still feel like I owe him a truck.
Oh, great. I now have about 4 more loads of wash. I just went in to see how the beds doin' and the fill spout had fallen over and leaked massive amounts of water on top of the bladder, thru the liner, thru the frame and onto the floor. I threw a shitload of huge assed towels on it and wrapped one around the spout. Why me, Lord? (Breaks into song...) What have I ev-er done, to deserve even one of the shitstorms I've known....? I know what his answer to that is: "Because you piss me off!" He says, while grinding the pad of His thumb on His desk. Sigh. I suppose I oughta go start the mop up. I know I'd rather just move. To Idaho. On a mountain somewhere. Have fun, BE SAFE and I'll be back....someday.
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