First Cavalry Arrives Again

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Reality Warning: Philosophical material to follow
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As I watched their taillights disappear over the last visible far away stretch of our canyon road at dusk, I realized that I had never taken their photograph and I sighed heavily in regret. Now I could only hope that Virgil and Jen's return trip home was safe and uneventful. They had brought me desperately needed supplies without hesitation and even though I still have no means of paying them. This was their second trip into our far boonies. They had already come to the rescue within two days of Terry's passing, being there as both family and friends to quietly share in trying to make sense of this unfathomable turn of fate.

This post is for Connie, Virgil's mom. In her many caring and encouraging e-mails, and like so many of you, she has worried about my predicament alone out here and she lamented not being able to help, wondering what she might be able to offer in this very challenging time. Connie, you have helped in more ways than you could ever imagine; you have shared your son with me - so I thank you, deeply and from the heart.

Virgil came to us from the gas field. He came to us via their good neighbor policy but stayed to become our loyal friend throughout this and so many toughest of times. He did not abandon us when fate transferred him so far away from us either. So many people who cross your path in brilliant comet-like colors will fade away quickly when circumstance and convenience change; he did not. Nor did his equally sincere wife, Jenny. If you can count such people as friends on even one hand at the very end of your life, you have been extraordinarily blessed. I feel as though my two hands are full and am now running out of toes to tabulate such blessings. This is what keeps me going when unseen influences do their best to beat me down to my knees and shove my face into the dirt as they have tried so many times before. And as long as I can feel even a small amount of a goodness and love in mankind, I will keep fighting that good but often discouraging fight. I may retreat into the solitude of my aerie when the sum of events become too burdensome but I bring your caring with me as a balm for heart wounds which might otherwise prove fatal. We all bear the responsibility for mankind's future by caring for others in genuine and selfless ways ... don't drop the ball and then point a lamenting finger at the rest of the world. For all we know, there may be a scale of planetary proportions with a preset point waiting for the day when just one good soul dying away will be enough to set the cogs of our fate into reverse.

That was my big philosophical rant; thank you for indulging me. With any luck and blessing, I will be back to the utterly mundane shortly. In the meantime, get defiant and fight your own good fight; never let them get you down for long because rising from your knees to victory is the finest of life's wines that you will ever taste and remember. If I can do it, so can you - don't ever, EVER forget that.
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Chaos, Rains Supreme - Part 4

This posting's photo: just another mesa-top view, totally unrelated to this story.


I could see Mark standing on the far shore in his new and very nice 'go to town' shoes. "WHERE - ARE - YOUR - BOOTS?" I shouted over the noisy mirth of the creek. "IN - THE - TRUCK - BED!" he yelled back so I stopped and hunched over the bed to grab his boots as I completed the first vertigo-inducing creek crossing, regretting that I hadn't taken a motion-sickness pill to quell that strange feeling I get every time I plod perpendicularly through this rapid swill. "Shovels, tow rope, cell phone?" "One shovel." Sigh, valuable time was a-wasting. We would spend the next hour taking turns with the one shovel or hauling loaf-sized rocks to spit into the whirling slurry around the truck. Its appetite proved bottomless. After fifteen minutes, I was panting and staggering around blindly, ready to give up the ghost. I suddenly remembered back to a doctor's visit just before we made the move down here. He was less concerned about the 2" sliver of oak that disappeared completely into my forearm than having me check into the cardiac ward directly from his office. I became defiantly inspired; "Okay, so if there is some unseen malevolent force intent on tormenting me, you are not going to let me have 'the big one' and end your fun so abruptly, are you? Are you? Eh-heh-heh-heh!" and I returned to the task with a renewed vigor.

At the end of that hour, we had made some progress but clearly not enough. At one point, I lingered around the right front wheel too long and the mud sucked my boots downwards at an odd angle. There was nothing to do but follow physics and fall over backwards. I came to rest sitting rib cage-deep in the rushing brown gumbo and wondered what new micro-organisms I had just added to my existing bacteria load. Mark was able to reach out and pull me upright again but it was becoming obvious that we needed to call in help from that side of the creek. We headed back across to my truck. I took the dog blanket from the rear seat and made my muddy-bottomed self at home in the passenger's seat - - "Y-o-u drive."

Once we returned home to the one remaining viable cell phone, Virgil came to the rescue as usual. He was able to hook us up with the weekend gas field crew and Mark would rendezvous with a rescuer within a couple of hours. "Do you want to come with?" I passed on the invitation to new misadventure this time. I was quite happy to sit this one out after getting this new mud out of my life ... and my drawers, thank you. I needed some time alone to calm down and ponder the "Just what were you thinking?" aspect of this morning's events.

The rendezvous went exceedingly well since the weekend guy had been sent out with a helper. Between the three of them, an incredible amount of shoveling and hand scooping of dirt and rocks finally freed up the front undercarriage of the Ram and the tow out tug worked on the first real try. Mark was then able to pull the Ram up and out of the way onto the pipeline access road. On the way back to the creek, he noticed a large, unsavory puddle of black slime where the rear differential had been sitting in the interim. It was a good thing he noticed, too. Upon his return, he and Virgil discussed the ramifications of the mysterious puddle and the next wise steps necessary. He was sitting out on the porch in the cooler air but, in my sweating lethargy from inside the Rat, I could still hear him wrap up the conference with "Virgil, I think I am in DEEP s--t with management this time." Just where were those stunningly acute powers of observation a mere six hours ago?

To be continued this weekend

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Humor of the Day (from me beloved cuz Colin)

WARNING! I am still feeling neither well nor P.C. ... be forewarned

THREAT LEVELS

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved."

Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." Londoners have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out.

Terrorists themselves have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was during the great fire of 1666.

Also, the French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France are "Surrender" and "Collaborate." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country's military capability.

It's not only the English and French that are on a heightened level of alert. Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so that the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Mountains Out of Ant Hills

This is a tread-water offering while Mark and I fine tune the last elements of the Rat Water Works. 'Fine tune', in this case, is a euphemism for banging our heads against the wall and screeching as we solve one problem, only to have another appear, then another and another - like playing Whack-a-Mole. We'll have to take a few more whacks before showing you the final lay-out. It's starting to look good though!

Click on image for larger view

This photo shows one of our neighborhood red ant hills last Fall. I placed a gallon milk jug beside the mound to show how industrious these little fellows can be. They place a shingle-like layer of larger gravel and chico needles on top to slow down erosion and it's enjoyable to catch the glint of old colored glass fragments in the mix. I've heard that they occasionally dredge up lost Indian trade beads as well. These mounds and their forage trails are everywhere and I soon learned to pay attention as to where I was standing before stopping to sightsee during a hike. Willy the Well Driller noted that the 'old timers' used to observe the height of the mounds to forecast how much snow the coming winter would bring. Then, being in his 8Os, he stopped to laugh at himself for calling anyone an 'old timer'. But the ants and the old timers were right - we had a much needed higher level of precipitation last winter.

The ants showed up and introduced themselves like the Welcome Wagon as soon as we arrived. While they are not as aggressive and rude as fire ants, I still didn't like having them keep me company and crawl up my pants legs while I was working under the Rat. That crawling sensation caused me to hit my head on the undercarriage more than once. To their credit, however, they were more pleasant to deal with than the rotting rat that I stuck my hand in while trying to move around under there. Thankfully, I did not run into scorpions, rattlers, black widows or tarantulas that are also likely to move in if you don't have the space sealed up well. I have met all of them in other settings since arriving so it's probably just a matter of time before they show up under the Rat. Funny thing but I have since developed a dislike of having to work under there. Therefore, I will be ever grateful that Virgil bit the bullet and dove under to deal with the latest necessary plumbing reworks. I know for a fact that he is not particularly fond of creepy crawlies either so my only solace was that he was far more agile and likely to come shooting out of there at light speed if he ran into anything untoward. Without him, I guarantee you that this water project would have been on hold 'til slightly before Hell freezes over if it had required my participation.

C-o-o-l, c-l-e-a-r water ... WATER !

Story time line: Late April to present

As promised on his last field visit, Virgil came through for us and returned on his own time to help us with the dreaded plumbing rework to correct that last numbing bit of craftsmanship left by the Handyman from Hell. Without his help, neither of us were going to get around the stroke-inducing memories of that fiasco. And so that day held exciting prospects beyond few others out here to date. I awaited anxiously for the check-in call saying "We're only a half hour away right now."

When they finally arrived (a half hour seeming like an eternity), they did not come to the door as expected but went right to the work site at the rat's rear. Wot!? Such serious intent? We'll have none of that here! I ran the inside length of the trailer and exited out the rear door to head them off. I grabbed the cordless drill on the way out and lay in wait behind the metal 'doghouse' which we had recently lowered into place with the skid steer. Virgil rounded the corner first and I mowed him down quite effectively with the drill ... Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Well, he was no fun at all and kept on walking even though I knew that I had scored a direct hit on this invader of Billy the Kid's secret hideout. But wait! There is one more invader to be dealt with! I hunkered down again and sprang up in full blaze as his wife rounded the corner. Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! I wasn't about to take any chances this time, nosiree. It just had to be done.

Now maybe some would consider such things as "Ewwww, like so totally sophomoric, you know?" but then again, I never signed any contract saying that I would grow old gracefully either - or even sanely, for that matter. And there's something satisfying about making younger folks wonder if their own parents are like this when they are not around. My reward for all this foolishness was a sighing reprimand from Matty as she restrained a patient grin and said "Sigh ... oh, Lin, you-are-SUCH a little kid ...." Some moments just don't get any better than this, seeing that adorable ever-patient little face in chastise mode. I can see why Virgil is completely sold on her, I really can.

It wasn't long before Virgil, being the no B.S. kind of guy he is, surveyed the situation through the skirting panel we had just removed, donned his Carharts and disappeared under the rat for serious business. Matty remained content to browse through her school supply catalogs on the back steps nearby, soaking up a good sunburn in the process.

Soon we heard "Oh man, I can't believe he did this ... what a complete doofus!" issue forth from the dark under belly of the Rat. But there were no real surprises for us in his findings. It would figure that the Handyman from Hell had reduced the 3/4 inch supply line that he made such a dog and pony production over down to 1/2 inch well BEFORE the branch-offs to the kitchen bath and laundry occurred. But we knew deep down that more inane practices would be revealed in time.

The best we could do now was to hover by the opening in the skirting and toss him tools and supplies as he needed them. It was a sheer and envious pleasure to watch his lithe, young frame squeeze by UNDER the rat axles - something that neither of us could accomplish with our latter day bulges.

While the remainder of the system set-up was not ideal, by the end of that day, we had gen-you-wine running water in the rat. We celebrated over the lunch which THEY had brought and then with a Chez Rat supper. And Virgil reminded me that he got one of our private property mulie hunting passes for the effort. Now just hoping that he might share a backstrap or a round roast if he gets lucky this Fall.

With Virgil's absolutely crucial part in the scheme completed, we could now seal the skirting back up and proceed with the foundation for the proposed addition. This was a glorious step forward. The photo shows that momentous progression.

Click on photo for larger image

To be continued!