Wednesday, November 11, 2015

dra-mama, from listening to him at his speech at the Tomb of the Unknown, sounds like he’d rather be elsewhere, saying other things, for, to him, a better cause. He’s a technician of words and he resented having to do it.

I’m sorry for him. A man without a core other than “I, Me”.

Housekeeper was around today. She was full of tiredness. Conversation wasn’t much as she rather dragged herself from area to area.

She did mention that her hometown had voted to sell the Hospice. They’ve been debating that for a couple of years but things haven’t improved.

My thought is the Hospice has run out the “Old” timers that farmed the area and who knew they would go there one day. The Hospice has been accepting lower income, government sponsored folks for a number of years from outside the area. Our elders are slowly dying off.

The other item of conversation (repeatable) was a small story about her Hubby. He and the other employee’s of the town were gathered about a sewer drain that had become clogged. The pipe served the Court House and the Jail.

The crew used all the tools available to them and the blockage refused to yield. After many hours of trying. The city decided to call in help. The only help was from a tow a hundred miles away, but the man came. Bringing with him his tools.

All assembled once again and the new man sent a camera down the sewer drain. The camera showed sheets and pillow cases from the jail, along with jeans and tampoons and other stuff.

The new man then got out his most formidable tool. A saw bladed snake. He entered the sewer drain and asked a couple of the locals to go down stream and watch for the break  through of the tool and warn him by raising of their hands. He didn’t want to damage the tool or the sewer by getting things crooked.

The two safety men at the other end of the pipe noticed the break through occurring and, as instructed, raised their hands. Housekeepers hubby backed off about thirty or forty feet and raised his hand. The gas man (cares for the gas system for the town), not noted for intelligence or experience, remain in place and raised his hand.

Which concludes, Housekeeper said, a Shitty Story.

They sent the gas man home to shower and change his clothes.

I asked Housekeeper if he was allowed to use the city work truck or his own car.

She didn’t know.

______

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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