Monday, April 27, 1998 - Spinning Our Wheels, Figuratively and Literally Both

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I like snow, but since I’ve planted all these flowers, I’m glad that danger of snow around these parts is practically nonexistent after the middle of April. This week, rather than plant flowers, I’ve dug them up. Dandelions, that is. I’ve got sore hands from all those stupid weeds, I do! Or maybe it’s just the people who are stupid, who think you should slave your life away trying to eradicate a plant that is perfectly harmless, and even edible. Fact is, I think a field full of dandelions is kind of pretty. Oh, well. We mustn’t antagonize the neighbors; hand me my Weed Hound.

We have now determined that the smoke billowing from the More-Door Ford was caused by neither old gas, old oil, nor a bad computer. Evidently, somebody tried to start it after it had rolled over, before they’d drained the oil out of the piston holes. And they ruined the motor. Tuesday evening, Larry climbed into the pickup to drive it home. Just one block from the shop, ka-BLLLAAMMMMM!! It committed suicide, throwing a couple of piston rods straight through the engine block, leaving large, gaping wounds behind, through which gushed an oily Niagara Falls.

Good-bye, cruel world.

Larry coasted into the nearby long lane of the Reese Wood Sole Shoe Factory. Later that night, after all the kids had gone to bed, I went with him to pull the crewcab back to the shop. Larry hooked up the tow rope. Just as we pulled out of the circular drive of the Shoe Factory, a looooong limousine pulled into a neighbor’s driveway. But, instead of them attracting all the attention, we were doing so. Why, even the passengers in the limo had their noses presses against the glass! Too bad it was nothing but a lame duck they were staring at.

Friday, Larry removed the power-stroke (or, ‘powerless’ stroke, as the case may be) from the pickup; and Saturday we took that motor, three axles, and three transmissions--all parts we had no more use for--to Burwell, Nebraska, the town near Calamus Reservoir, where there’s a man who owns a rebuilding shop and salvage yard. He lives on a farm, works by himself, and his place is absolutely as neat as a pin.

At this salvage yard, there were two Rottweiler puppies that came romping out to greet us, friendly as could be. Their mother, who is supposed to be the guard dog, is every bit as friendly.

We traded our motor and parts and $1500 for a . . . . can you guess what?

That’s right; a Cummins Turbo diesel. And what a motor this is! It’s a 1998, with only 15 miles on it. Yes!--fifteen miles, that’s all! Marvelous bargain for us; but can you imagine how the people felt who had only just bought themselves a brand-spanking-new Dodge pickup, proudly driven off in it, and then smacked up a short fifteen miles farther on, totaling out their new truck? Poor people.

The pheasants and wild turkeys were out by the droves, but I didn’t get any pictures, either because we were traveling past at too high a rate of speed, or because I had the wide-angle lens on my camera when I needed the 600mm, or because it was raining and too dark.

Monday we went to Kearney (except Keith, Dorcas, and Teddy) to get another part for that Suburban of Charbonneaus’. I tell you, while my week’s journal looked something like this: “Monday: dug dandelions. Tuesday: dug dandelions. Wednesday: dug dandelions. Thursday: dug dandelions. Friday: dug dandelions.”, Larry’s journal (if he had one) would’ve looked like this: “Monday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; new transmission’s splines won’t mesh. Had to go back to Kearney for the piece I told Elton last week I didn’t need. Tuesday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; man who used large power press to realign splines called immediately after I’d gotten the transmission put back in to say he hoped I hadn’t put it back in yet, and to tell me he’d mistakenly left a vital piece out; I’d just discovered it wouldn’t shift on account of said missing piece. Took transmission out again. Wednesday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; must remove and reposition cross member, since new transmission is 4 ½” longer than the old one. Thursday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; would never have attempted this job, had I known the logistics problems from the beginning. Friday: abandoned one downed vehicle for another; took motor out of crewcab.”

As you can well imagine, all profits for last week went right down the tubes. If the lady hadn’t’ve minded the two little switches for overdrive and lock-in, Larry wouldn’t’ve had to put the automatic transmission in. The other one worked perfectly. But switches! What pampered rich lady can cope with switches?! Brother.

Monday, after getting the piece we needed in Kearney, we went on to Sumner for some other parts. Upon leaving, we traveled a ways down a country road, just for the fun of it. We came upon a half-dozen baby calves, out of the fence and running madly alongside the road, while their mothers lowed worriedly on the other side of the fence. They sure are frisky little things! They were having a frolicking good time rocketing through the ditches and nearby fields. Their mothers seemed concerned, and periodically the babies went to the fence and carried on a discussion of sorts with their respective mothers--“MAAA!” and, in answer, “MOOOOOOOOOooooo!” But they were either unable or unwilling to find the hole in the fence from which they’d escaped; I hope Farmer Brown found his wayward dogies before the coyotes or bobcats did, or before they got run down on the road.

One little calf kept running straight at me. But he always chickened out and veered off elsewhere before he got at all close. As we were driving away, we saw a farmer on a tractor heading that way; so the little calves were probably soon back where they belonged.

Actually, I did get a few other things done besides digging dandelions; I finished Teddy’s shirt and Lydia’s dress and did a bit of mending, too.

One afternoon as I was carrying a box full of dandelions into the backyard to dump them, a chipping sparrow, with many twittering ‘chip chip chips’, flew from the buckeye tree and flitted toward me, fluttering over the box and tipping its head this way and that, the better to see what was in there. Perhaps he thought I’d built him a nest?

I thought I’d discovered the perfect, cheap, plenteous thing to put on my flower beds to not only hold the weeds down, but also to add nutrients to the soil. Grass clippings! Well, you know what else I discovered?? It stinks. Wheweeeeeeee!!! Does it ever stink.

The Virginia bluebells that I thought had croaked are blooming like everything. They’re so delicate and pretty! The bleeding heart, lavender wildflowers, and Rembrandt tulips are blossoming, too. The white and purple pansies and the purple-with-white-striped pinwheel petunias have nearly doubled their blooms, and a lavender hyacinth just flowered today.

That horrid neighbor boy, Paul, took a notion to write nasty words on the sidewalk and porch in front of the church with his sidewalk chalk. Several of the girls saw him, however, so I walked out and asked him why he did that. He, of course, denied it, so I informed him that lying was even worse than writing bad words on the walk.

“And it’s especially awful,” I told him, “when we’ve tried to be nice to you!”

With that, I ordered him and his friend off the church porch, where they were sitting. He stared at me to see if I really meant it; I stepped forward a pace and stared right back; he jumped to his feet and departed, posthaste.

Now, these sorts of skirmishes, we always regret, and we try hard to avoid them. One must live with one’s neighbors, after all. Furthermore, one must sometimes live with one’s neighbors for a long time! And we certainly have no wish to have an antagonistic boy just two houses down, prepared to destroy our property or the church’s anytime he determines we aren’t looking.

So the next day we made Nestle’s Crunch/Heath Brickle/ Butterscotch Chip cookies--my favorite cookie, bar none--and, when they were just fresh out of the oven, Dorcas took a small plateful to their house.

She knocked on the door. It was promptly opened by Paul, whose eyes grew large upon seeing who stood there. He backed up quickly, and looked nervously behind him, probably wondering if he dared shut the door in her face.

Dorcas smiled at him, pulled the screen open, and thrust the cookies toward him. “Here’s some cookies for you and your family,” she said.

And then his eyes became even bigger, and he swallowed once or twice to regain his voice. He reached out and took the plate. “Okay,” he muttered, and gingerly pushed the door closed.

By an hour later, he’d recovered his manners, and thanked one of the children for the cookies. He still had chocolate smeared around his mouth, as proof that he’d eaten his. And guess who was playing with the kids the following afternoon, just as nice as you please? Yup; Paul.

Thursday evening, I told the Jr. Choir this story, and asked of them a favor. “You see,” I explained, “the last thing we need is a nasty neighbor kid who hates us; he’d be only too glad to wreck and ruin or steal any of our things he thought he could get away with. So, I want to ask a favor of you: would you please, whenever you happen to spot those two boys outside playing, be friendly! Wave at them and say ‘hi’! And then maybe, just maybe, we can convince them that it’s better to be friends than enemies!”

The children, a good 45 strong, grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

As far as I know, that’s the best way we can deter an unpleasant escalation of unpleasantness.

Joseph is thirteen! Hard to believe. He’s now sitting on the boys’ row, way up front, in church, and looking mighty small up there. Larry offered to gel his hair straight up for him, to make him appear taller; and a boy in Hannah’s class advised him to wear a propeller cap--jet propelled, that is--to lift him up to a height more comparable with that of the other boys. He just laughs and takes it all in stride.

We gave Joseph his Second Generation Virtual Puppy, along with a folder for school with a picture of Garfield seated before a computer screen on which is the likeness of Odie, and the caption is “My Virtual Dog ate my homework.” We also gave him a teal-colored model Suburban with opening doors and tailgate. His other presents, a watch with a horse pictured on the face and a horseshoe which floats around the dial once each minute, and the fleece robe, we’d already given him.

My mother gave him a baseball mitt, which he was in bad need of, a pocket knife, some $, and socks; and Lawrence and Norma gave him a wood-burning kit, with which he has already burned himself and made a hole in his new robe. Good grief.

Friday evening we visited Lawrence and Norma, who fed us ice cream and peach pie.

Yesterday afternoon we drove around White Tail Lake, looking in vain for the mute swan. It’s gone, and its nest doesn’t look like a nest anymore, either. I wonder what happened? Maybe it wasn’t a real nest in the first place.

Anyway, at least we got to see a couple of grackles, which is the first time we’ve ever seen any. They have such big, fan-shaped tails, that, when they fly, they look like a fancy guppies swimming through the air. We went along beside the Platte River near Duncan, where we saw cormorants swimming. They look funny, the way they lower their body clear down into the water, thinking that then they won’t be seen, in spite of their very long necks and red faces sticking up. Just the opposite of ostriches, they are! When I took its picture, the flash must’ve startled it; for it suddenly dived straight down and didn’t come back up again for nearly one whole minute. Some people call them ‘snake birds’, because of the way they swim.

Victoria is mighty proud of her hat; I no sooner put it on her than she exclaimed, “Mirror?!” and scrambled to her feet to look in the mirror that hangs over her dressing table.

We’re still busy passing around the flu and cold bug in this house; since I’m still feeling rather gimpy (or, as a friend of mine used to say, “not quite up to ‘power’”), I think I’ll head directly off to bed, directly.

Toodle-oo!