Thursday, February 26, 2015

Cold, windy as hell and dry. Clear sky’s. Bitter. Had hoped to open the workshop and bring in the tractor for various routine things. Didn’t happen. Lazy.

Called Housekeeper and told her about the Harvest Store in the church. She didn’t sound interested in the church aspect of it all, but did perk up when I told her how it operated. He brother is a social security person on minimum pay out and lives in HUD housing and she is forever trying to make  his money meet expenses.

I hope she does call the pastor and gets more, and more accurate information. It’d help her and her brother quite a bit.

I keep checking Geenen’s (right side bar/Linda Geenen) site for an update on her eyes. So far she’s only gotten one fixed and left us suspended waiting on the other. I suppose it would be fair to say “She’s right between the eyes.”

Cataract surgery. Know how she feels. Can’t for the life of me understand why her son doesn’t do the driving for her on those long trips into Vegas. Don’t suppose it’s any of my business, either.

The whistler came around late last night. He didn’t stay long out there whistling in the dark. Him, I ignore.  His patron – the guy that was his patron and on whose property he still lives on – is in the hospice’s bad off with diabetes.

That broad on TV that figures that ISIS needs jobs and the democratic handouts to stop killing should see this guy.  He’s been getting government handouts all his life and is still as ugly and the south end of a north bound whatever. I sometimes think that the word slime was modeled on the family.

But that’s not chartable.

Dog has a new toy. A rubber ball. He carries the damn thing everywhere. To bed, to his food bowl, and tries to take it out doors. I have to remind him that the last three toys he’s tried to share with the neighbor dogs, they’ve run off with them and left him tied to the tree.

This morning I woke with the ball in bed with me. Thing is hard rubber and is very lumpy  turning over on it.

I would get him a running mate, but don’t think I can handle two of them.


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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