It takes forever to get nothing done

I was catching some early-spring vitamin D out on the stoop this afternoon. Bright sunshine but a cold wind. I was sheltered out of the worst of it. A feed truck goes by. I hear it slow down once it's out of my line of sight. I figure he's making a delivery to the barn next door, where the neighbour has a couple dozen head wintering. Then I hear him backing up. The truck stops at the end of the drive. An old guy climbs out and heads my way. He's got the slightly stooped walk of a man who's done his share of hard work. We exchange how ya doin's and he tells me he stopped to enquire about the Allis-Chalmers backhoe parked behind the barn. Is that an 815 he wanted to know. Nope, it's a 7-something-or-other. Turned out he had owned a couple of different 815s. We talked about the Perkins diesel. Told me they rebuilt one but the cylinder liners was leaking Prestone into the oil. So they filled the radiator with diesel and the thing ran fine. I tell him the story of how my Allis came to her resting place. Just parked her there and next time I went to fire her up, sparks and smoke from the general direction of the starter motor. I meant to get on it right away, but she was parked with the bucket arms blocking access to the undercarriage. So I put it off... I'll have lots of time to deal with it when I retire. And there she sits, slightly cockeyed due to one of the back wheels having lost its seal, and trees growing up through it. The problem with retirement, I tell him, is it takes forever to get nothing done.