The sweet & simple farm life

My thought process, when I fired up the Contrarian Ranter six months ago, was I wanted to separate my profound insights into global geopolitics from the pedestrian matters of where my cat shits, etc. 

I feel I've neglected the simple farm life side, so let me catch you up!

We're half way through the winter here at Falling Downs. Hasn't been too bad so far. I'm doing snow-removal with a fucking snow-scoop and a shovel, but so far, so good.

The reason I can do snow removal with a snow-scoop on a 100 yard driveway is I'm retired now. I would never have bought that snowblower in the first place, had I been retired at the time.

But that was then, and this is now.

Back then, I had to be at work at a certain time. Spending four hours with a shovel was a non-starter. That's why I forked out almost three grand for the top-of-the-line snow-blower on offer.

I had power steering and heated handgrips!

Then, when I sparked it up back when the first big snow hit, I realized that after a mere four or five, or maybe nine or ten years of service, my ultra-deluxe snow-blower suddenly has only two speeds.

Full-throttle.

Zero.

I got on that right away. The first thing I found out was the dealer where I bought the piece of shit had gone out of business.

Great! I'm now gonna have to tow my snow-blower 300km for warranty work!

That's when I said fuck it, I'll just fork out thirty bucks for a snow-scoop.

So far, that's worked out OK. 

After all, I'm retired now. Six hours shovelling snow is six hours I don't have to spend in the gym.

One of the things I didn't think about on the road to retirement, was what the fuck I was gonna do with my time. Sure, I had a huge list of shit I was putting off till I retired. Some of it I'd been putting off for ten or twenty years.

Then guess what? I retire, and I'm not in the slightest mood to do 99% of that shit I was gonna do when I retired.

Replacing the gas-line on that '06 Pontiac Torment so it would sell as a viable vehicle instead of scrap?

Sure. Probably a valid point, but I just don't care. 

Once you retire, and the government is sending you money just because you're old, you know you're in the last quarter.

Sure, you might get some penalty time, but long story short; you're on your last few laps...

Start acting like it.

Make those last laps count!

The inexorable slide into decrepitude

As 2018 hobbles towards its ignominious end, it's once again time for a stock-taking of sorts.

The Farm Manager thinks Wiarton might make a nice retirement venue. I was absently driving around the place this morning. There's lots of folks out walking those poofy little dogs that retired people get themselves for company. They've probably got family somewhere, but you know how it goes these days; the younger generations are way too busy clawing their way forward in this cutthroat world to make time for their elders. Besides, it's a long drive to Wiarton no matter where you are.

They could fly in, I suppose. The "Wiarton International Airport" is an actual thing, after all. An international airport with exactly zero scheduled flights arriving and departing on any given day. So they'd have to charter a plane, and unfortunately none of the next generation of my acquaintance have thus far clawed themselves forward sufficiently for such an undertaking.

Retirement. I'm not sure it's for me. I try to picture what a day in the life of me (retired) might look like.

Six a.m. - Wake up. Take morning meds. Take poofy dog for walk.  Pick up Globe and Mail at Korean Extortionist's place on way home.

Seven-thirty to tenish - Read Globe and Mail.

Ten till noon - Compose and post pithy rejoinders to whatever twattery I found most objectionable in the Globe. There's almost always something.

Afternoon - The empty hours are upon me. Too soon to visit the liquor store. Too early for a toke, at least if you're harbouring any illusions about doing something useful before nightfall. How many useful things need doing in Wiarton is an open question. There's already a guy wandering around town collecting empties out of recycling bins. There's probably not enough empties to make that worthwhile for both of us. Besides, is that actually "retirement?"

Evening - time to get comfortably numb and reflect on the day. What did I accomplish? I walked the dog and wrote a blog.


Nah!... don't think I'm ready.