The regular reader may wonder what happens here at the Downs once I'm done with the papers. On the face of it, one would be tempted to answer "not too much", and while that may be true on a certain superficial level, let me take you on a tour of the rest of my day.
Weather permitting, the post-reading hours are a real God-send. I can sit on the porch for hours, contemplating this, planning that, assessing one situation or another, plotting middle-east peace or figuring out what stock in my portfolio might be the next to tank. (By the way, go back a few blogs and see my comments on RIM; the smart readers have made millions in the last 24 hours. What did I day? Short RIM big-time, that's what I said. You said, ya right, like I'm gonna act on investment advice from a reefer-smoking hillbilly. Do the math.)
I've got a nice view of Concession 20 from the porch, and sometimes I can spend a whole afternoon just watching the traffic go by. In fact, sometimes it takes the whole afternoon just waiting for one car to go by. She's a pretty quiet back-road, Con. 20.
On a busy day something drives by every 15 or 20 minutes or so. Davis up the road, driving down to his other farm, sometimes in his truck, sometimes the tractor, sometimes the ATV. When he goes by I always know he's good for a return trip. When it's haying time or manure-spreading time he'll go by four or six times a day. We exchange neighborly waves.
Young Lundy, who grazes his cattle on my land (for a far too modest fee, I might add) zooms his ATV by once or twice a day. Now there's a contrast in ATV styles. Davis has a windshield on his 350 Honda. Always wears a helmet. Comes putting by at 20 miles an hour. Young Lundy whips by at 60 or 70, he's passing traffic when there is any, never wears a helmet, and always has his dog perched on the back of his Polaris 800.
That's a wonderful thing to contemplate, that difference in driving styles. When I owned a Honda ATC in my youth, one of the first sold on these shores, I always drove it fast. In fact, I think the whole point of driving anything is to drive it fast. Otherwise, why not just walk?
The porch is also a good place from which to survey the expansive lawns here at Falling Downs. The downfall with that is usually you realize how bad they need a trim. That realization inevitably leads to all sorts of questions. One of the more common ones is should I get a riding mower? So far I've come down on the nay side of this one. Ya, it would save a half hour or so whenever I do the lawns, but what am I going to do with the time I saved? Contemplate the grass? There's also the exercise factor to be factored into the equation. Doctor says the only reason I'm alive is because I get a little exercise. Exercise? I walk the hounds and I cut the grass. Take away one or the other and I'd be a gonner. So I'm sticking with the push mower for now.
Had the bright idea to train the younger generation for the grass-cutting operation once. Got Junior out there on the end of the lawnmower. He was 13 or 14 at the time, probably a little late in the day for this sort of training. Junior spends most of his time at his mother's place, where his chores are limited to eating and sleeping, so the shock of having a real chore discombobulated him somewhat. Got him out there, fired up the Lawnboy for him, and by God, it wasn't pretty. With one hand holding up his drawers and the other holding the hair out of eyes, I realized right away that unless he was going to push the mower around with his johnson we were properly fucked. Never brought it up again.
Like I said, those long afternoons on the porch are also a good time to solve the problems of the world. Obama's mid-east policy. The liberation of Libya's oil fields. The direction of oil futures when we hit Iran. (Up up and away!) The decline of the once-greatest-civilization on earth at the hands of a money-grubbing hedge-funding elite. It's good to burn one for that sort of contemplation.
Getting lit up generally puts paid to actually getting anything done around here for the day. I know there are people who remain productive after they've tasted the weed of wisdom, but I'm not one of them. There are guys who drive Anchorage to Brownsville round trips every week, stoned every mile of the way, been doing it for 30 years without an accident. There are guys who can fly F-16s or 737s while they're lit. Heavy equipment, no problem. I'm not one of those guys. I fire one up, and I'm done for the day.
After all, there's always tomorrow.
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