Thursday, August 29, 2013

Sitting here in the raggedy middle management chair, fan blowing across sweaty shoulders , it is easy to exclude the outside world.

The out side world intruded just before dawn this morning, willy-nilly, and I responded. Along with a large handful of other citizens. Then, after the sun rose, came chores, planned equipment movement and more mowing.

Things now look very well for the Labor Day Fest. I understand, from the paper today, that T-Shirts and other cloth memorabilia have been found, secured, cut-up, and is being stitched back  together to form  blanket in honor of the Eightieth non-stopped Labor Day gathering. It’ll be auctioned off.

The old folks have decided, for the first time since Senior Citizens Association has been around, to offer cash prizes for various things. Humph. Cash prizes, yet.

The point being, however, I’m sitting in the worn out chair, the dog is sleeping on the kitchen floor (the coolest place in the house by far), the TV is keeping us company, though I will admit to not listening much, not being forced to nod at the appropriate places to demonstrate attention, when the outside world intruded.

Probably any old military people will understand the un-conscious counting one does as a matter of habit of sudden sharp noises that might be or could be gun shots.

I’d reached the mental count of twenty-six when I surfaced from my concentration and wondered what the noise was. I listened. But there was a pause.

The noise resumed with a series of eighteen sharp noises. A pause. A series of twelve. A pause. Eight. Pause. Six. A longer pause. Four, and the noises ceased.

During the series I went from gun shots to setting T-Poles, and rejected both. I poked my head out doors and observed the near neighbor reducing one of his many junked lawn mowers to manageable pieces. He was working on taking off press fit bearings. The sharp blows were a metal hammer on metal, except he had the bearings flush on his anvil surface.

The pauses? Well, near neighbor is passing fifty eight, now and hasn’t the exercise of former years, and well, frankly, not the stamina.

I found the downward progression of the blows amusing. No. I have no idea why he is doing what he is doing.

I now return to my regular daily programing.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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