Am I There Yet?

Rediscovering your youth is a strange affair. I have done it once or twice, going back to the places I grew up in and seeing how they have changed while I was off doing other things. Things do indeed change and familiar landmarks perhaps no longer exist. I know that the small provincial town where I grew up hardly resembles itself now. So much for the physical side of things. More interesting is the sense of how one experienced things as a youngster. We tend to forget that very quickly.

Something I have forgotten completely is the sense of excitement that comes with the passing of time. You know what I mean. Waiting for Christmas day. Or your birthday. You know its on its way, you even know how many days there are left until the big event but oh, the impatience! Or how about that journey to somewhere special. Are we there yet? How much further? I was a pain as a kid. My patience wouldn’t last a moment back then. Things change with the years.

Or so I thought.

I have a passion for tobacco pipes. No big secret. Read this blog and you will know that. Just last friday I saw a superb meerschaum pipe on the internet. I spoke to my wife about it. I pondered on it for all of two hours. Finally I decided I had to own it and went through the process of buying it on line. The website clearly told me that I would have to wait about two weeks for delivery. OK, I was prepared to wait two weeks. I have learned that things take their time to materialise. I can easily wait two weeks.

The problem is, that it didn’t take two weeks. In fact, I could have had my pipe in my hands today if I had been a bit more awake this morning. It is here. The postman was here with it, at my home. This morning. While I slept late. Damn.

The package is waiting for me at the post office. I will have to wait until tomorrow to go and get it. I know it’s there. And you know what? The little kid inside me is jumping up and down and waving his arms about in a frenzy and screaming at me. “Am I there yet? Is it tomorrow already?”

I guess there are some things that you just don’t grow out of!

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Toeing the Line

Spring is definitely in the air. My dear lady has turned her attention to the garden. Not that she is doing anything out there, but I can see my “to do” list getting longer by the hour. Today was “putting up the new washing line day”. I was sent off to the builders merchants last week to buy a new, wooden, highly complicated and heavy washing line thingy. It consists of two gallows like structures which, when assembled, resemble the crosses on Golgotha hill. One requires the use of a hammer, a screwdriver, a spanner and a spade to get the thing fully assembled and standing.

I would have thought that just stretching a rope from the house to the tree in the garden would suffice to hang washing on. But no. That would not do, as far as the long haired and lovely one is concerned. It isn’t esthetic enough. It isn’t proper. No. I have to go out and build the bloody ark to get the job done. Oh well, such is life around the shack.

Actually it didn’t take that long. The construction of the two crosses went reasonably well. The only complaint I have with the construction kit is that the screws had a weird hole in the top for which one needs a special bit or screwdriver, that I annoyingly do not possess, which is not included in the bloody assembly kit. Which means one has to go back to the builders merchants and find one that fits ones electric screwdriver. Or, as in my case, one has to be lucky enough to have some long screws lying about that have standard heads on ’em. I now have some long screws that I will probably never use because I don’t have the tool necessary to drive them in. I feel slightly cheated.

Right then, two crosses. Bring on the christians.

The next phase, is the digging of holes. It has rained here for months. The earth is wet and heavy. Determined that these things will last for some time, I needed to go down about a half metre into the soil. Hard work, but luckily over with in a relatively short space of time. Planting the uprights was a simple chore. Then fill the earth in around the pole in the hole and hey presto, it’s up. Four hooks placed in the cross bars of each of the crosses holds the line.

Proudly, I called upon the resident lady of the house to admire my handiwork. “Good.” she said. And with a toss of her head, she disappeared back into the house. Good? I wanted something like “Well done. Wonderful. Thank you.” I wanted praise and adulation. Good? Bloody marvelous is my interpretation of the result, but there you are. I’ll have to make do with “good”. Muttering about the lack of appreciation, I packed up all my tools and tramped off to the woodshed.

That’s me done for the day. I have provided my wife with a place to hang the washing to dry and a place for the birds to congregate. I hope that both my good lady and the sparrows will appreciate my hard work.

Actually, I’m feeling altogether pleased with myself. Job well done. Time for a well deserved pipe and a scotch.

This is a Test

Not being fully “au fait” with all the modern tackle that comes with the internet, I tend to go cautiously forward with regard to all the new stuff I get offered. Someone put me on to this editor thingy called “Windows Live Writer”. It is supposed to offer an easier way to write my blog posts. Never having been afraid of trying something new, I decided I had to have a go and then reserve judgement until after the first trial. If I don’t like it or can’t use it, I thought, then I can just delete it and continue in the good old fashioned style.

It should give a what-you-see-is-what-you-get editor that allows me simple flexibility, that my blog editor doesn’t, and then translates the whole shooting match to my blog. Black magic is my first thought, but here goes anyway.

Just to be sure, here’s a picture for effect and my own peace of mind. Isn’t she a sweetie?

If it doesn’t perform as I want, then it’s goodbye. The program, not the french maid. She performs OK.

Thank you for participating in this trial.

Right then. Publish and be damned.. here goes.