Touched with grace. Blessed with fortune.
I entered Poker Stars wondering if I had enough to enter the Pokerworks Family 8 Game Tournament Sunday and decided to play. My stakes are bottom feeder stuff, so I choose a table and sat.
The table had five of six and when I sat three left. I dread that. Anyway, the three of us played four hands. I won them. Then the table filled. I filled and suddenly I was alone.
Bleat. Plus ninety-five cents for five hands. I’m flush. I’ll eat out tonight. Heh.
My ISP has a Yahoo look alike home page. You may read the news, sports, entertainment and more on their home page. That, as well as accessing your account, and other functions.
Among the tool bar options is a “Local” button.
If you press that you get the local stuff; like who visited who, when, what’d they do and other interesting local stuff. The ISP is a whole lot larger than most give them credit for and are into most anything electronic.
No one on the Northeast edge of their huge fiber optic cable loop is represented by what they call a community editor. Evidently a community editor is responsible for approving (among other things) any article or blurb anyone wants to submit for the ISP local events pages.
I found that out by asking who the community editor for the area/town/hamlet might be. They asked why not me.
Your kidding, of course.
Blog style writing is prohibited. Oh. And I don’t think so.
Thus far I’ve received three emails, two telephone calls and I’ve purchased a mirror.
I’m trying to see the target on my back.
As some know, I’m fairly deep into remodeling my house. I’ve had yearly projects that require knowledge and skills I do not have (quite a few of them, thinking about it). I usually hire that work out.
This years project is replacing the kitchen floor. Which means striping everything from the sub-flooring to the bottom of the hanging cabinets. We have a local man that does that handy man thing. We’ve agreed on prices, work to be done and small details.
This individual is a retired military man. Recently retired. He has been a long time Reservist and finally accumulated enough points to retire. He has a certain affinity with alcohol.
Over the weekend, considering it was Memorial Day, my man hosted a combined party and “had a few beers.” On his way out to his car to pick up more he stumbled on “the rough walkway” and fell.
On the way down, he says, he put out his hand to catch himself and grabbed the arm of a collapsible lawn chair. The lawn chair collapsed, trapping his hand in the arm. The arm cutting his hand to the bone. And failing to break his fall, he banged his head off the rock walkway.
He acquired nine stitches in his pinky, eight in the ring finger, dislocation of both and eleven stitches in his eye brow, left side. The eye is now a crudy purple. And somewhat swollen.
Due to the injuries time has slipped. He estimates “sometime” in July to begin my project.
I believe the search for a project completer will begin again.
I’m sure that his being the husband of the sister of my near neighbor has little to do with this. Well. Reasonably sure.
I love small towns. I will admit, at this point, that Okie-Vegas becomes dimmer. Before I had an outside chance.
From the reaches,