What is spring without rains and what are rains without rainbows! We've seen a couple of real beauts lately. This is one of them and it was right outside our front door! The gold was gone by the time I got there.
And....when you live near the Sierra Nevada Mountains, when there's rain, there's usually snow. So it was this time around. Our snowpack is about normal here but above normal a bit north of us. It snowed yesterday down to the 2,600' level so that helps. After our excruciating six year drought, we welcome every snowflake.
Wanna see my fan? This big 52" beauty was a "freebie". Some folks we know were remodeling and just didn't have need of it. It's in absolutely perfect condition. It's the wrong color for what we have around here at the rancho so we'll likely do what we do with most such free things: sell it on Craig's List. Free money is our friend!
Tip o' the Day:
"If you attempt to rob a bank, you will have no trouble with rent or bills for the next ten years whether you are successful or not" - Anon.
Now, a word from out sponsor:
This issue of Rancho Relaxo is brought to you by “Pretty Polly Picken’s Piddy Poddy Pudders”. Now, these are the best Piddy Poddy Pudders that money can buy! You cannot...I say...you cannot get better Piddy Poddy Pudders anywheres! And, folks, they're made right here in the good ol’ US of A. You can get your bountiful supply of “Pretty Polly Picken’s Piddy Poddy Pudders” at the Wal-Mart, KMART, Speedy Mart, Save Mart, Quick Mart, and all those marts where those guys have them towels wrapped around their heads. Tell'em the Ol' Rancher sent you. You'll be glad you did!
Holy chocolate frosted donut holes, Batman! It’s April! One
fourth of the year is behind us!! Can you believe that? Would you believe that there are only 263 shopping days until
Christmas? Wheeew! Doggies! The time is goin’ by faster than a Bluetick nine
feet behind a Kentucky coon! Movin’ along….
Gimme a brake! Or Brake it to me gently: the other
day (when lots of things happen around here), the Coop DeVille’s brakes started
“talking” to us (talking brakes are not a good thing). She was still sporting
the OEM brakes so it didn’t take Michio Kaku to figure out what it meant. It
was “brake time” at the rancho!
A local brake shop was consulted for an appointment and,
thanks to the rain that day, they weren’t busy. So, we were able to bring it in
that afternoon (reckon everyone else only has brake issues on clear days)! That
was cool! We left it overnight and picked it up the next afternoon. No more “talking
brakes”! The Coop can now stop on a dime and give you change back! They even
rotated the tires and fixed the slow leak in the right rear tire (which picked
up some poor guy’s lost nail). Zowie!
Of course, we had to re-load our snacking goodies, stuff ‘n
what-all, bric-a-brac from the previous yard sale, various and sundry loose “thingies”,
a dead soda cup, two tool boxes, an ice chest, a Bowie knife (what? You don’t have
a Bowie knife in your car?!), my handy Leatherman tool, my back up ham radio
handy talkie, the large tactical flashlight and the small backup tactical flashlight,
lanyards with flash drives dangling from them for the rearview mirror (seems to
work better for us than a pair of dice) and who knows what else. It took us
almost as long to unload and then reload stuff as it did for the guys to fix
the brakes. Anyway, it was nice to have the Coop back home but I think the alternator
is whispering now.
But, she’s more than a show duck. She’s already laid at
least three dozen large, wonderful, tasty eggs! Love this duck! Now, if we can just get the big white Pekin to get with the program, things will be twice as ducky! Since the pretty duckie hasn't laid any eggs yet, it has yet be determined whether or not it is even a hen. It may be a dud duck or a Donald duck. If it is a male, I'll put it up for sale on Craig's list.
There was a brief-but-focused concern that Rodney the Ramrod
Rooster (the presumptive king of the coop who overthrew the previous proud preening prince) might become aggressive and try to convince her of his lordship.
He certainly does that with the other birdies and even tries to enforce it with
me from time to time (we get along great as long as I don’t try to prove him wrong). However,
he ignores her since he seems to be bright enough to understand that she isn't about to forfeit her rightful place in the coop any time soon. She isn't the least bit intimidated by him and ignores him like Dobie Gillis ignored Zelda.
In fact, she seems to ignore anyone and everyone else altogether!
She’s in her own little ducky realm where she’s the queen quacker. It’s like
she’s the only bird in the herd. Darla Darla, our white Pekin, who is much
larger, follows Lucky Ducky around like Kato follows Green Hornet.
Shell of a deal: What with all the dozens upon dozens of eggs that we are freeze drying (i.e. powdered eggs), we have a massive amount of eggs shells to deal with. It turns out that it isn't such a big deal. We just stuff them into the oven of our 1950-52 O’Keefe and Merritt range (it actually has two ovens) and dry them out. They are then crushed into small pieces and given back to the chickens who leave none behind. We try not to waste much around here. Some things are beyond saving, though.
Making a mess out of a mess or Messing around: It has been a while since I’ve had access to a mess of collard greens. So, when the opportunity arose to pile a bunch of them on the kitchen counter came along, no time or energy was spared turning them into an edible delicacy. The previous collard cook-up, a ham hock was used. This time, about a half-pound of bacon was whacked up instead. You just can't miss with this dish because there are only four ingredients: water, salt, collards, ham hocks (or bacon). There's no way to mess this up.
After a tad less than 3 hours of simmering, it was time to test drive that beautiful bountiful batch of green stuff. My, oh, my! What a treat! It won't be all that long until another mess of these will be whomped up! After using bacon, and though bacon is quite fine, the preferred ham hocks will be used instead. It's just hard to beat a slow-cooked, falling apart, ham hock.
So it still is with the Ol' Rancher to this day. In the winter and spring times, particularly, he can be found shod with his black, brown, tan, or deep burgundy cowboy boots. And, that's exactly what he wore to town a couple of weeks ago (his momma told him not to take his guns to town so he didn't. Billy Joe's momma told him the same thing but he took them anyway and the dumb ass got himself killed. Just ask Johnny Cash).
It had been raining which, in and of itself, isn't a big deal. But (I hate buts don't you?), there was a curve ball hiding in plain sight. The fruitless mulberry trees in front of the church had just had their blooms knocked off by the rain and they blanketed the sidewalks. Well, you know who wasn't paying attention and he paid the price. In only a few steps, his beloved boots lost all traction on the slick-as-ice blooms. In less time than it takes to split an infinitive, there was a rather large mound of boot-wearing flesh sprawled out on the sidewalk with some of it parked on the wet grass.
Having worked in the paramedical profession, it was time to make an assessment of the matter (and all done in a few seconds). First: ABC. A: the airway was working. B: breathing. Yep. Still sucking air. C: circulation. Yep, again. Blood was being pumped and none of it was leaking out. So far, so good.
A quick check for pain was made as was a check for cracks. No cracks but the pain was registering pretty high. The peripherals seemed to be OK and there was no pain from there or the noggin. So, that huge throbbing stabbing pain coming from where the the spine ends and the sidewalk begins must need some attention.
Technically, that place is called the "coccix" but most folks refer to it as the "tailbone" . The tailbone is where all of us "arboreal creatures" used to have our long prehensile tails attached until God cut them off. I think He may have made a mistake, though, because it would have been great to have a tail handy so you could scratch your nose if your hands were full.
Anyway, that place has seen a lot of pain but not much in the previous 50 years that I recall. Having actually broken my coccix in '65 (on a slick rock by the river up at Windy Gap about 2.5 miles due west of the Great Western Divide Highway), I could tell that it wasn't broken this time but it had been severely tested (maybe my momma should have told me to not test my coccix). After a week or so, the pain had subsided but that area still has to be guarded and not retested. Ibuprofen is our friend.
The magic of being old: It's getting increasingly obvious that you can't separate being old from magic. You just can't do it. I mean, you lose things that are right in front of your face and then, like magic, they reappear right in front of your face the next day! Amazing! Then, you're on a mission and you get to the top of the stairs and, like magic, your memory has vanished into thin air! How about when you drive down the road in your hometown and you pass by a house that hasn't been there since you've lived there. Like magic, it just appeared out of nowhere and you declare, "How long has that been there?!".
And, there’s more. There’s my contact list and my vocabulary list both of which are quite important. But, when I try to gain access to them, it’s magic! They’re gonzo! Nowhere to be found! You see a long-time friend or school mate in Wal-Mart but....you don't remember their name! You had nine classes with them, went to the school dances together and, like magic, all you can remember is their dog's name! "Hey how are you?!! How's Scruffy doing?!" and hope that somehow (please, God!) you'll remember in time to rescue yourself out of the magic act. *SIGH*
Generator to Revolutions Or Crank it up boys!: Our 20KW
Generac residential generator wouldn’t start the other day (when lots of things
rebel against the Ol’ Rancher). Just what I needed during the rainy season when
the power can and does go out.
The top cover was lifted up and the front panel was pulled
off to it couldn’t hide much from anyone trying to discover its secrets for why it's taking the week off. After poking and prodding for a while and finding no
reason for it to not run (other than it hated me), it was decided to just walk
away from the dang thang (which is not a town in Vietnam) and try again later.
After a few hours when the rejection wore off (I hate being hated by a mechanical
monster after I’ve treated is so well), another attempt was made to discover
this beast’s secrets for not wanting to work for a living.
Much prodding and poking was then soon employed. But the ol’ greasy mechanic
was not yet annoyed. When, all of a sudden, and without further ado, an unemployed
sparkplug wire snuck into view. It was hanging and dangling without any clue as to what kind of chore it was to do. But, the crafty Ol’ Rancher, without even
a flinch, put the rebellious wire in place not needin’ a wrench. Then, the startup
button was given a push which jolted the motor with a kick in the tush. It cranked
and cranked with all its might then the motor kicked in; what a wonderful
sight! Oh, how the Ol’ Rancher’s heart did sing to know that he had fixed that dang
stupid thing. And, stuck to his face was a yard-wide smile; he was so happy he
could have danced for a mile…straight up. Problem solved. The end.
Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo (aka “Dos Acres”): home of Rancho Ran, the world's least-most greatest authority: home of the Yo-Yo twins and three ducks that we try to keep in a row (one of which is retarded): home of Connie the Canner, the world's greatest side-kook and CEE (Chief of Everything Else): where the air smells and where alliteration reigns supreme: where being modern is optional and 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.
