(Click on the pics to enlarge them)
Remember from a few months ago the little tiny ball of fluff that flitted about the barnyard at barely sub-mach speeds? This is "Speck" who is now a full-fledged hen. She contributes to the daily supply of huevos around here. I've started calling her "Ruby Dooby" since she's a Rhode Island Red.
This shot is for all of you "ex-Ports" out there (ex-Porter-villains). It's the “Sequoia Dawn” apartment complex in Springville. It’s getting a complete overhaul and makeover. They even took out all of the trees and shrubbery. That’s a real “Thank God!” deal since it truly was an eyesore from the git-go. More pics when they finish the job.
This is actually the truth. We're gong to be getting another dozen chicks or pullets. We prefer pullets but will have to pay a bit more for them. Raising chicks isn't quite the fun thing that some folks may think. The chore of rearing them isn't mitigated despite the fact that they are sooooo cute. (especially after you've done it a few times).
Well….it’s March! Doesn’t that just make you want to go to a
shad bake? Time is zipping by so quickly and so many crazy things are happening
in the world that it’s almost like waking up in a different decade or on a
different planet! OK….no more bellyaching. Let’s get to the blog. When do the
Jedi get here?
Rancho Thought for
the Day: Getting old means that, despite having many years of practice in
dressing yourself, your wife may have to advise that your T-shirt will look
better if the pocket is on the front (that and your neighbors will be unable to
confirm their suspicions about you). Hint: never dress in the dark or away from
a mirror (*SIGH*).
Rancho Musings: From time to time, the Ol’ Rancher dude finds himself mentally hearing the ancient sounds and smelling the ancient smells of decades past. And, there are lots of stimuli that conjure up those smells and sounds.
For instance, a lot of
guys love “guy things” like big noisy car engines, medium noisy car engines, small noisy engines, big and small noisy aircraft engines, noisy tractor engines, noisy gas engines, and noisy diesel engines. Some dig
the smell of diesel smoke in the morning. In every case, that would be me.
Yep; the Ol’ Rancher’s lil’ ol’ heart still pumps red, white, and blue hydrocarbons. That roughly translates as the different colors of aviation fuel. Red colored av gas is 80/87 octane while blue av gas is 100/130. (though, today, it's the 100 octane Low Lead gas). And, for the record, purple av gas is 115/145 octane (which is fighter, bomber, and race plane territory).
Fun fact: there also used to be “white gas” which was used in camping stoves and such. It was your basic simple gasoline which did not have all the climate compensating additives that comprise auto gas. Until the late ‘60’s, my folks had a small camp stove that used it. I doubt if it’s available to the public now.
Here’s a list of the stuff that’s in our fuel:
Benzene; Toluene; Ethanol; Butylated hydroxytoluene/BHT
(yes; It’s the same stuff that we use as a preservative in foods); 1,2-Dibromoethane
(anti-knock compound that replaces tetraethyl lead); Isopropyl alcohol (yes;
the same disinfectant you buy at Wal-Mart. It helps remove water from the gas); Nitromethane (yes; the same stuff
the drag racers and R/C modelers use); Ferrocene (another anti-knock component);
Di-isopropyl ether; Ethylenediamine (didn't I see that as an ingredient in shampoo?! Just kidding).
So, there really is red, white, and blue gas. If you’re ever on “Jeopardy”, this information will help you
win a really nice prize.
Plus, to help your memory, there’s always the local car club where some guy has an old car that really floats your barge. You boys know this guy; he’s driving the slick old cruiser with big rumbling iron under its hood that makes your ticker flicker
and which you wish you owned.
Anyway, while surfing the Net, a couple of gorgeous old cars
smacked me in the face and it stirred up my rememberator (sic) which kicked into high gear and called up days of
old. It brought about great days of roasting rubber (a unique smell, to be
sure) in my beautiful red 2 door ’67 Ford Fairlane GT sporting a four-speed
shifter and beautiful white bucket seats. My mind had no trouble getting up to
speed as I mentally recalled shifting from third to fourth gear at 105 mph; I could once again feel and hear
that big 335 hp 390 CID engine sucking air through a carburetor that was squalling
like a banshee. The speedo hit 130 mph and was still
headed north when my foot lost its intrepidity and backed off the pedal. That
was the first and last time that trick was pulled. The mental goose bumps were
ironed flat by the reality that not everyone who takes such a risk makes it
back home alive.
Some years later, while in the police and paramedical profession, I saw
numerous young men who weren’t so lucky. It was heartbreaking.
Back to the present: that was way back when I had lots of
get-up-and-go and enjoyed being adventurous and daring. But, now that I’m getting
older, I have to eat a nice big lunch so I’ll have enough energy and daring to sneak up on a
nap.
The FORD Ranch: Just
about every day, there is something that needs to be fixed, replaced, or
otherwise repaired around here. One day, it’s a hose (yesterday). On another day, it’s the lawn
tractor. And, on the next day, it’s a
toilet (we have three of them), a leak, or a computer. It’s non-stop fixing around here. Maybe I should
just change the name of this place to “FORD Ranch” (“Fix Or Repair Daily”, for the younger folks).
And, I'm fixin' to clean up the back yard which looks like Patton's 3rd Armored Division camped out for a few months. The tarps and covers have about been worn and blown off and that'll have to be fixed. It'll have to be done prior the big yard sale in May.
“Oh, the pain!” (stolen from Dr. Smith on "Lost in Space") or “Pass me the Ibuprophen please”: Since it’s the beginning of March, the need to switch to “spring mode” was sure to pounce on us. It did. The “bloom” has started which means that certain chores can no longer be delayed (or ignored which is what El Flojo is inclined to do). The problem is that my “spring muscles” have yet to blossom so things got interesting.
The rancho riding mower, "Cabrito", was fueled and set loose on the jungle out front. After the yard looked somewhat normal, the weed-eater (aka Chewy) had to be taken for a stroll. I always look forward to that because I can't wait to see what new body part will be abused or injured from flying debris. The front part of the rancho is still a pretty big place so it took quite a while to whack the jungle into submission.
Then, the budding plum trees needed to be pruned or we'll be trying to pick prunes eight to ten feet in the sky. The good news is that the tools required to do the job right and
not over tax the workforce are on hand. On tap are four different loppers that
do a great job of pruning. The favored
one with the longest handles was employed. That fun gig was good for about another
hour of joy.
You can imagine what the Ol’ Rancher’s body was screaming at
him after the last of the pruning was done! It was something along the lines of, “You
keep whacking and I’m going to whack you, Pal! You’ve got 3 minutes to quit this rodeo and grab the
Ibuprophen or else!”. There wasn’t a problem complying with the ultimatum (given
that I’m not doing any of this for therapy). It’ll probably take some time to
rebuild the relationship with my angry body parts.
“Let there be…phone!”
Or, “Don't call me up!”: Back in the
‘50’s, most folks used the phone only when it was necessary and, even then,
only if calls were within their budget. Long distance calls were rare for the
common folks (you were billed by the minute). Lengthy calls (by and large) were
for the wealthy.
They were a really nice tool to have around for times like when
your bike had a flat. Ah, but not just any flat; how about a flat at the
farthest place you’ve ever ridden it in your young life (that would be to Success
Lake from A Street in Porterville) and needed a ride home?
I called but didn’t get help because my folks weren’t home. My great-grandmother then advised that I should “hoof it”. “Hoof it?!” Given the numerous miles involved, that thought wasn’t immediately logical to me. Later, it dawned on me that my great-grandmother was born when there weren’t any cars in the entire country and even bicycles were a rarity. You rode a horse or you “hoofed it”. Plus, she had probably worn out a hundred pairs of shoes by the time I took possession of my bike so it was quite logical to her to advise me to hit the bricks.
OK; I was out of horses so “hoof it” I did.... all 6 miles back home.
The other day (when lots of things happen around here),
AT&T decided to switch from their 3G service to the newer 4G provision. Our home phone and our backup flip phone no longer worked. Oh, swell. That’s not a game changer but it
really is a proverbial pain in the glutes. We had to order a new flip
phone (free, which is our dear friend) that was 4G compliant when we next went to Hooterville. But, this is Rancho Relaxo where you just never know
what’s going to happen.
Our “land line” is actually a 3G wireless phone. Pay attention
because this is really screwy. AT&T sent us a new wireless radio/modem to replace
the 3G rig that we had. In the real world, all you should have to do is take
the bloody thing out of the box, plug it in, hook your phone to it, then
activate it online. A piece of pie, eh? Ha!
After numerous times trying to activate the new box (Ol' Ran isn't exactly a novice at electronics and computers),
AT&T tech support was called in to assist. Another slice of pie, eh? Ha!
Ha! After 2.5 hours of dealing with clueless agents (it took more than one to
not know what was happening), it was decided to send me another box because
mine was defective. Great. I get to be without a phone for a few more days.
Would you like to guess what happened next? Sure you would!
What happened was that the new box and sim chip didn’t work either. Swell + great = grrrrrrrrrr. It only took another 2.0 hours of dealing with two other clueless agents to find out that things were definitely inconclusive (do people major in "clueless"? There sure are a lot of them around). Add another "great" to the pile. So, they sent me yet another box and sim chip.
We’d been without a phone for close to two weeks when the
newest new box showed up. The next step was to go online to activate the phone
per the destructions. Once again, it was a “No go!”. Great. Just great.
AT&T tech support was called yet again. This time, I was
able to connect with someone who had a full complement of gray matter and a
full understanding of the entire operation. In only a few more minutes, the
phone was activated and sucked into the new 4G system. Great!
God only knows what will happen when the 5G service hits
town.
Breaking the tie that
binds or Unchained Malady: I have to admit that, as partial as I am to Abbie, my
princess pooch doggy dog, Missy, is the most amazing and intelligent dog I’ve
ever encountered. She’s also as sweet as a bucket of bonbons which somewhat
mitigates her being an obstreperous handful (which I guess comes with being a
pup). Truly, though, my little sled dog had me at “woof!”
However (why is there always a “however”?), in addition to
having an appetite for free chicken dinners, she is an amazing escape artist!
After a number of inexplicable escapes from a cable and two ropes, she was finally placed on a “link chain” (something you would see holding up your porch swing
and which has a 300+ pound pull limit). “No sweat. That should do the trick”,
said I. Ah, but this is Rancho Relaxo and you just never know what’s going to
happen next.
Let’s do a quick backstory: The other day (when lots of
things happen around here), my neighbor (once again) texted me to advise that
Missy had gotten off her new chain. What had happened was that she had slipped the new camo harness that I got for her.
Thankfully, she didn’t run off into the vast unknown but stayed close.
After hooking her up again, it was quickly noticed that she
had destroyed the nylon harness. That was a complete mystery because, although
there were very minor signs of her having chewed on the harness (how she
reached it is beyond me), the main connecting strap was (get this) broken (not
chewed loose) from both ends. What?! Only a 500 pound gorilla that bench
presses Honda Gold Wings for grins could pull that off! She has a heavy duty leather
collar so the chain was hooked to that.
So, we have yet another mystery. If this continues, I’m
leasing her to David Copperfield so she can teach him a few things. I could use
a few extra bucks. Anyway, so far, so good.
Then, I happened to catch her performing yet another circus act. She derives great joy in removing her mats, blankets, and rugs from her dog house and then scattering them (or destroying them depending upon her mood) all over the place.
Well, to keep them somewhat rounded up, they were tossed on top of the roof of the large pooch hooch. Despite the rooftop being about 5.5 feet high, Missy ever so nimbly made the smoothest and most effortless leap I've seen in awhile and snatched one of the rugs off the top. A true Olympian, she is! For now, she sleeps on the floor boards of the doghouse. Abbie always slept on the blankets and rugs. "SIGH".
Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died): home of the Yo-Yo Twins, home of a retarded duck, home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells, where alliteration reigns supreme, where being modern is optional, where there are no slaves to fashion, where the eggs are always mostly fresh, where things can get...interesting, where it’s all news to me, and where...you just never know.
