Idling away the time at the car dealership

 Paid a visit to the Ford Home today.  Paid the bill and drove home.

Two black beauties parked in the showroom, a Mustang and a Cobra  GT 350.

Grille work.  I can't recall the number of times I have laid that stuff inside the form in building a concrete pad.  But whatever captures the designer's imagination.

Trust me, this beast was all black with the exception of the chrome snake and the GT designation.  The white wall on the tire does not show at all to the naked eye.  The camera sees all, though.

Oh, jsyk, I've zero intention to drop $64K on a kar.

"They" are Coming to Take Me Away, Hey, Hey

 People all too often reference the ubiquitous "they" when speaking of, well, politics, economics, the world in general,or whatever.  I sometimes ask, "Who is this 'they' of whom you speak?"  This question is usually not well-received, and that may be the principal reason I ask it.  The truth is almost every answer I have gotten provides a circular definition, which is to say it goes something like, "They are the ones who. . ." (want to rule the world, are trying to destroy the economy, etc, etc,)  Note the use of "they" to define "they."

The other day a lady used the "they" reference and I asked my question.  Her response:  "There really is a "they."  The implication was, and I know I received this message correctly, "If you weren't so dense you would understand that.  I pity you."

What Comes around Goes around

or, The Wheels on the Bike Go 'round and 'round.

Isn't she a pretty little machine?

The Back Story

I was six years of age. Opal, who boarded in our home for a short time, got a job in a defense plant in Los Angeles.  She departed for her new life but she left her bicycle behind, a huge, to a six-year old boy, heavy, to anyone, steel-framed 26" behemoth.  I wanted to ride a bike.  So by main force-- and awkwardness-- I dragged the vehicle to the patch of grass just beside the neighbor's garden.  I learned to ride, as the saying might go, all by myself.  How many times I picked myself and the machine up from the ground I have no recollection.  But there were incidents.

I have been a bicycle rider for many decades, and past the mid-point of my ninth decade on this orb I can still ride, and I do.  But.  Isn't there always a but?  While I have not found it impossible I have found it difficult to get my leg over the crossbar to mount the bike.  Solution?  Oh, yes.  In the barn there is a functional, nay even easy riding 26" girl's bike, that is, one without the annoying crossbar.  I have been riding it recently but it was flawed.  It had no basket in which to carry my groceries or whatever and it had no fenders to keep the wheels from striping my clothes with mud should the streets be damp.

But my bicycle had all three of these, so I cannibalized it in the interest of perfecting this beautiful lightweight aluminum machine you see here.  The only problem was that the back fender struts bolted to  special holes in the original bicycle but there were no such holes in the frame of the blue bike. and the struts were an inch too short to be attached to the axle.  Hence the project was to extend the struts exactly one inch each and include the 3/8-inch holes to fit over the axle.

A snap, a cinch, or easy-peasy, whichever you prefer.  Except it took me, literally, all afternoon to attach that rear fender.

But I got 'er done!

 

BS

 Yes, you will believe this because, though it seems implausible, you know that I am a reliable scribe who would not mislead you.

Imagine you are a man of a certain age.  Your spouse dies.  You expect that her income will no longer come into the coffers.  You are right.  What you didn't count on was that you would be getting bills for increased premiums on insurance policies which are already paid and in effect.

I am not making this up.

Explanation:  "You are now a widower, that is, a single male, which puts you in another risk category, therefore the premium is a bit higher."  ("A bit" is well in excess of a hundred bucks, which may be "a bit" in some budgets.  Maybe.)  Anyway, you reply, "So because my wife died I am now a worse driver?"

"Oh, no, sir, It does not make you a worse driver, but it throws you into another risk category.

I have not been treated with such disrespect and inconsideration since I was a single man under 25, and that may or may not have been a higher risk category.  Go figure.

A Monument to Caution?

Here I sit in my automobile talking to a telephone.  Why is that?  Well. I drove the daughter to a dental appointment.  Masked, I went in, sat in the empty "waiting room."  "Sir," the receptionist, oh, so sincerely apologetic, "We'll have to ask you not to sit it the waiting room."

Back in March I wrote a post entitled "My only post on covid-19.  I hope."  And that was my hope, but how can one not remark on this remarkable situation?  Okay, I could let it pass.  And it was a nice, sunny day, if a bit chilly.  With the windows rolled nearly to the top it is quite comfortable.  

Comfortable enough, I think, that this calls for a nap!

May you be well, and treated with respect. And show grace to others; they are stressed, too.

An Englishman Bites the Dust

 402 years ago today Walter Raleigh succumbed to the ax.  I memorialized him here.

It's been a month

He rolled over, 

stretched his arm to the other side 

to see if she had come back to bed yet.  

Empty space.  

Eyes wide open, 

heart clenched like a fighter's fist,

 awareness:  she will never come back. 

Hot tears.

Sleeplessness 

until the dawn breaks.