How about a little Snow, Scarecrow. December 2, 2010
Posted by Retired Geezer in Handblogging, Nature Shit.trackback
This was Mrs. Geezer’s Fall Tableau that she created last month.
(note that in Idaho, we use Elite Gray Tarps, to cover our haystacks, not Blue white trash tarps)
This is what it looked like yesterday after Record Breaking Snowfall.
It was only 8″ but it broke the record.
Here’s a picture of Mrs. Geezer’s truck, with random obligatory horse.
I was proud of myself for putting on the studded snow tires, 3 days earlier.
How are things in your town?
Cute!
The scarecrows kinda look like you two.
That horse wants out.
We are supposed to get a couple of inches on Saturday. ANARCHY!
Hrrmmff! Here in Appalachia, blue tarps are considered de rigueur.
Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow…
…somewhere else.
In Wisconsin studded snow tires are verbotten!
Lutherans know how to spell “verboten.”
In other news, Dallas is experiencing a horrific cold spell for this time of year. It is 62° at my house right now.
Icy this morning, I miss my Jeep.
Actually, we really did get a cold snap last week. The water temp in my pool is down to 47°.
The water temp here is a complicated thing. It’s sort of like a four-week-running-average temp that factors in air temp, ground temp, how far north the sun is, and evaporation rate.
http://tinyurl.com/244zstu
GREEEEEEEEEEEN ACRES IS THE PLACE, TO BE!
In California, studded snow tires are unheard of.
We lived on the edge of the Jersey Pine Barrens. I remember my Dad putting on the studded snow tires every November. . . until they outlawed them.
I remember buying chains so we could get back and forth from our hotel to a ski area with a rental car.
Remember chains? This was before 4WD was a normal feature. You had to back your car onto them just right, and then snug them up around the tires. They would get you through anything.
Studded snow tires for 8″? Really?
When they outlawed studded tires only outlaws had studded tires.
Studded snow tires for 8″?
Well, we might want to go up into the mountains.
I only have one set of snow tires, otherwise I could leave on the All-Season tires for snow up to 5″, the non-studded ones on for snow up to 10″ and the Studly ones for snow over 12″.
But Idaho weather is unpredictable and I’m lazy that way.
>> Remember chains?
No.
You had to back your xxx onto them just right, and then snug them up around the xxx. They would get you through anything.
FIFY
In California, studded snow tires are unheard of.
Yea, but we bought a set of tire chains while in Tahoe so the authorities would let us get to the ski slopes to ski.
…and that was for the rental car.
We still use chains, Michael.
Scott needed to buy them for the Party Van™ when he went to deliver to Vail, CO. There was a storm and nobody without chains was allowed to go up the pass.
I’ve only had to put the Jeep in FWD ‘low’ once. But there was almost 3 feet of heavy snow on an un-plowed road. An elderly neighbor needed meds.
Back when I drove a school bus, I showed up one morning and there were chains on the tires of my bus. I looked around…. no snow.
I didn’t have time to remove them, so off I went on my appointed rounds. As I was driving on the highway with a busload of high school kids, the chain on one of the rear tires broke loose, got caught between the two tires and was beating the hell out of the side of the bus.
I had to pull over to the side of the highway and attempt to remove the chain, which included getting it unstuck from between the two tires.
After 30 minutes of beating the hell out of the chain with a hatchet, while lying on the wet, muddy breakdown lane, I finally got the chain off the tires.
I stepped back onto the bus, cold, wet, muddy and just a little ticked off. As I threw the chains into the garbage box, I said to the kids “What, no applause?”
They gave me a standing ovation.
Scott needed to buy them for the Party Van™ when he went to deliver to Vail, CO. There was a storm and nobody without chains was allowed to go up the pass.
I’ll bet you’re talking about the Loveland Pass on the Front Range west of Denver on I-70.
Scott really only had to make it to the Eisenhower Tunnel, not the pass itself.
They gave me a standing ovation.
I bet that was almost as good a making your quota.
I’ll never forget the Party Van™. That evening was frickin’ hilarious.
I think. My only clear memory is peeing in the woods behind the Party Van™.
Oh, and I remember PJ sitting in a puddle of rainwater.
I also remember Laura and Scott were kinda funny, attempting to be the “adults” that kept us from getting arrested when the police showed up.
That was the most awesome cop on the planet.
What was that cop’s name?
We have a picture of him somewhere.
He told us not to leave any GPS devices in our car, because that was causing a rash of car break-ins at hotel parking lots near the Hartford airport. That’s why he was there that night. He didn’t really care about a bunch of drunks at the back corner of the lot who were going to walk to their rooms.
Nice guy.
He told us not to leave any GPS devices in our car
Then how the heck did Dave find his way back to his room?
Officer Paul.
Good cop.
He didn’t really care about a bunch of drunks at the back corner of the lot who were going to walk to their rooms.
He might have gotten an anonymous tip about some guy trying to break into a trade show RV for a bearings company.
Maybe.
When Officer Paul first showed up, I was actually halfway to the hotel at the time. He drove right by me as I was walking, and it was obvious he was on his way to our little party in the parking lot.
I almost didn’t need to use the facilities anymore.
Seriously, the Party Van™ saved the evening, as did having shitloads of excess beverages from the picnic.
I can remember it was obvious the restaurant was kicking us out, and Michael looks at me across the table and says, “Are there any fun bars around here? What do we do now?”
And I was like, “Well, shit.”
And then everything just worked out splendidly, probably even better than if we had planned it.
No way that tiki bar would have been as much fun as a parking lot at the edge of the woods.
Nuh-uh. Not in a meeeelyun yearsss.
I still can’t believe you all came here and all that happened and everything went great and you were all sweet and amazing and nobody picked me up and threw me on the pile of trash bags like they always did when I was a kid.
…forget that last part
>> And then everything just worked out splendidly, probably even better than if we had planned it.
Hey, we looked for a pile of trash bags.
No luck.
Actually, about half the group went to the bar in the hotel. We had to call them out to the real party in the parking lot at the Party Van™.
some guy trying to break into a trade show RV for a bearings company.
I was just trying to find a place for Dave to sleep.
Well everybody was still so wonderful. What a sweet weekend.
Wish I was throwing another get-together tomorrow.
I enjoyed Wiserbud’s story. Reminds me of a trip to the landfill for dad when I was a new driver–16 or 17. Dealing with a trailer full of junk was an adventure by itself. It was about 100 degrees in July and the smell was beyond ripe. I finally gave up on backing the trailer up and found a place where I could swing wide and unload off the side.
That done, of course I wanted to get the heck out of there as fast as possible. Just as I was pulling out I realized I had a flat tire. I crawled off to the side a little bit so I wasn’t in the middle of where everybody needed to get their vehicles to, but I was still very conspicuous. I unhooked the trailer, found the jack, and got the spare out from under the old Wagoneer. I jacked up the Jeep but didn’t realize the ground was as soft as it was. The Jeep tipped and fell off the jack and drove it down in the ground and, of course, was now sitting on top of where the jack was buried.
By now I’m sweating buckets and being molested by flies like I’m a Somalian toddler. I scavenged an empty dog food can and started digging the jack out. That probably took an hour. Once that was done, I found a piece of wood to put the jack on and got the task completed. I think that’s the happiest I’ve ever been to drive away from somewhere. I didn’t get any applause–dad just wanted to know why I didn’t watch where I was going so I wouldn’t get a stupid flat tire.
Flat tires are common at Landfills, it’s really hard to avoid them.
There are almost as many hidden nails there as in Bud The Neighbor’s yard.
As a friendly gesture, I once rolled my nail-picker-upper-magnet around his back yard for about an hour.
I filled up a 5 gallon bucket with pokey metal.
Wiser carrying PJ out to the Party Van, Scott making a huge coldie holder for Mrs. Rosetta and Officer Paul not tazing anybody = WIN!
I’ll bet you’re talking about the Loveland Pass on the Front Range west of Denver on I-70.
Naw, she’s talking about Vail Pass. It’s really high, and about 40 miles past the tunnel.
That looks so cold!
We broke out our ”Cuddle Duds” because southern California got cold, too.
I think it was 38 overnight one night this week.
I think it was 38 overnight one night this week.
BRRR! Oh, I say. That does sound chilly! Golly.
You came within a totally tolerable distance from not really freezing some very small quantity of water! I declare!
http://bit.ly/h27AqG
*double-handed birds*
We Yanks are awfully proud of our deadly shit-ass weather. And we’re about to get a whole lot prouderer.
BRING IT ON.
(crap, I really need some better tires for this Winter. These all-purpose jobbers just don’t cut it even in 4WD.)
SIGH.
*catches self, fiercely double-birds again just so nobody forgets about the pridefulness*
We Yanks are awfully proud of our deadly shit-ass weather.
You’re just fucking stupid. If you had any smarts, you would have moved to Texas long ago. In Dallas, 58° right now.
Holy shit you gots some cold weather coming there.
*ponders whether to wear shorts this evening out on the deck.
Nah, it’s a bit chilly. Jeans.
You’re just fucking stupid.
*flips the Bird, very slowly, with one frozen finger*
*pulls other hand out of pocket with glacial slowness and war-face on*
*removes glove with pained expression*
*creakily unleashes another frozen Bird*
That’ll teach ya
(Seriously, though? I get stupid-happy when it snows heavy here. Pain in the ass in other ways but I still love it like I did as a kid. We shovel paths for the dogs willy-nilly like a maze through the backyard, and dash out to grill steaks on the Weber right out in the blizzard, and get corked and build a fire, and make nekkid snow-angels and crazy snowmen n’ shit. It’s pretty awesome.)
We think snow is magical down here. As rare as it is.
Some of my favorite memories are just standing outside when it falls.
get corked and build a fire, and make nekkid snow-angels
Uh… were there pictures?
I won’t show them to Michael, I promise.
Ha ha ha haaa
Not me. Scott makes nekkid snow-angels on New Year’s Eve, if it’s snowing. Which it has several times. Some kind of weird tradition, what can I tell you.
I will take as many pictures of his frozen butt as you would like, Hon.
For frontals you gotta pay.
I already seen it.
I’m good.
I will pay you $175.00 if you keep those pictures off the intertubes so my children can never see them.
You’re trying to rob me. Several years of therapy cost a Hell of a lot more than $175, man.
/most awesome protection racket ever
You’re trying to rob me. Several years of therapy cost a Hell of a lot more than $175, man.
Lady, you are barking up the wrong tree when you bitch to me about the cost of therapy. That $15K delayed my retirement by four or five months, at least.
Gotta admit, it was interesting.
I’ll tell you where therapy goes:
1. You got fucked up as a kid, by your parents, who got fucked up by their parents.
2. You can’t really do anything about this, and your therapist isn’t really going to help either. Your therapist will help you understand, but that is not a fix. You can’t get a mulligan on your adolescence by transference or some other technique with your therapist.
3. So, look for a fix elsewhere. My advice — cling to the cross of Jesus.
The Church has this all set up for you.
1. Confession.
2. Repentance.
3. Absolution.
4. Sanctification.
It’s all free of charge.
oh.. therapy. Where they explain to me why I do the things I do, and suggest I adjust accordingly?
They kept ignoring the part about “I’m happy”.
So I kept ignoring them, until we parted ways back in 87.
They kept ignoring the part about “I’m happy”.
You weren’t really happy about falling into the Chesapeake and destroying your iPhone.
Your anger about that is blazing white hot to this day. You need to share with someone. Like me. Tell me about your mother.
Heh. I’ll tell you something that won’t make any sense at all.
I was irritated.
But I was still happy.
It was just a thing. It didn’t kill me, and I could laugh at myself. Perhaps most people don’t need that kinda embarrassment. I’m sure no one wants it.
But every now and then, it’s pretty good for me. I don’t think I’m all that. Every now and then life reinforces that truth.
Therapy is lame.
My advice is to ‘forget’ (suppress) all the crap that happened in your childhood so deeply that if you occasionally chance to remember it, it actually comes as a surprise.
Works for me
::TWITCH::
…and I turned out just fine…
My sister had me show up to her therapist when she was going over all this crap that happened after our parents divorced. Sis was trying to figure out why I was seemingly okay with everything and she was all bent outta shape.
So the therapist is like, “So tell me about what it was like living with your mother’s boyfriend after the divorce…” and I’m like, “WHO? Oh HOLY SHIT that really HAPPENED?? HA HA HA HAA. I’m gettin’ the fuck outta here.”
Ten hours later I wake up in my Mazda, covered in blood, holding a severed human hand, and there’s a ribcage in the passenger seat.
Pffft. Therapy is lame.
I don’t think I’m all that. Every now and then life reinforces that truth.
If you forget, just give me a call. You have my number.
Nah. I’m good.
*plays mumbledy fingers with my neighbor’s severed hand.. oo laaa laa.. oinky doinky
Ten hours later I wake up in my Mazda, covered in blood, holding a severed human hand, and there’s a ribcage in the passenger seat.
Hmmmmm.
*nods head, takes notes*
You probably should have consulted someone with a more Jungian approach.
I would really like Mark in NJ to show up on this thread. That would be a hoot. Dave would go nuts.
Cool Dave. If you pull the right tendons, you can make it give the peace sign. That always cracks me up.
Does Scott make the Nekkid Snow Angels ™ face up or face down?
(This will affect my bid on the photos)
OK, it’s not really accurate to say that “Dave would go nuts.”
Sorry about that.
It’s more like: “If Mark shows up, Dave will reveal that he is batshit crazy.”
That’s what I meant to say.
>> If you pull the right tendons,
You put a finger under the palm, your put your other fingers over the back of the hand, and play flexy-flexy.
It’s the same way I untangled my little girls fingers from my chest hair. It doesn’t hurt em like peelin fingers.
Face up of course!
What do you think he is, some kind of kook?
It’s the same way I untangled my little girls fingers from my chest hair.
Yeah. Why do little girls clamp on to daddy’s chest hair like it’s some kind of frickin’ lifeline?
What is that about?
What is that about?
I’ll answer my own question.
The daughter is bonding with her father to form a relationship that is truly unique, for her. She gets love, which is:
1. Unearned.
2. Nonsexual.
Thus, daddy creates the emotional foundation that she carries into healthy adult relationships with men. We hope.
This video explains it more succinctly, Michael.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_sfnQDr1-o
Thus, daddy creates the emotional foundation that she carries into healthy adult relationships with men.
Which explains why they beat on us as adults.
See, when adolescent girls approach adulthood and adult relationships, they need to know two things.
1. I am lovable for who I am.
2. Sex is not the price for being loved.
They get that from dad. Sad thing that so many girls in our society are being raised without fathers.
Which explains why they beat on us as adults.
Relax. It’s a waiting game. Just the normal adolescent unbonding process so they can develop their own psyche, which continues well into their twenties when their prefrontal cortex finally matures.
Daughter Michael is about over this. She is calling me up to talk about guns. It’s her way of connecting with me as an adult, because I promised to buy her a gun. So, she keeps shopping for guns. No anger.
I’m just saying, it’s a waiting game. Much different from the father/son relationship.
Relax. It’s a waiting game.
I’ve been waiting for 20 years so far, but Mrs. geoff just keeps wapping me. Of course I can’t claim that I don’t deserve it…
I’ve been waiting for 20 years so far, but Mrs. geoff just keeps wapping me. Of course I can’t claim that I don’t deserve it…
OK, now you are talking about your wife, not your daughter.
Mrs. Geoff will never stop wapping you. She is trying, against all odds, to make you a better person.
You need to have a sense of humor about that. It’s pretty funny how they keep trying.
She is trying, against all odds, to make you a better person.
Dang. I was hoping it was unresolved father issues.
1. I am lovable for who I am.
That’s a pretty recent concept in child rearing where fathers are concerned, yes? Like what, forty or fifty years at most?
The traditional model was probably more conditional and based on obedience (regardless of the offspring’s gender).
That’s a pretty recent concept in child rearing where fathers are concerned, yes? Like what, forty or fifty years at most?
I don’t really think so, Laura. Yes, many tribal cultures emphasize submission by daughters.
But that’s not the emotional level, which evolved over millennia. In the sanctuary of the home, dads are mostly suckers for their daughters, and I think this emotional connection crosses cultures and centuries. Sure, sometimes it gets sick, but mostly the impulse of fathers is the same, and it is affirming and empowering regardless of whatever weird cultural restraints are in place.
I remember talking to a psychologist about this. My comment was that I thought the fatherly impulse to be real careful about how you touch an adolescent daughter was actually genetic, not some learned societal taboo.
He agreed with me (very experienced clinician in his early-60s). He made an interesting observation — enormous amounts of emotional damage are inflicted by stepfathers in our culture. See, if that relationship starts before the daughter is about two, the daughter will bond with a stepfather exactly like she would with her natural father. She does not know or care if he is genetically related. If he acts like daddy, he is daddy.
Not quite a two-way street. Daddy may bond with that girl and love her dearly, but when she hits adolescence, he does not have the instinct to be super-careful about how he touches her.
Thus, in many cases, permanently damaging her adult relationships with men.
Dang. I was hoping it was unresolved father issues.
No. She’s just being female. God placed her on this planet to make you a better person. You are confronting forces that are far beyond your reckoning.
Take Laura and Scott, for example. You have met them both.
Do you really think Scott would be a tolerable human being by himself?
No, of course not. He is only tolerable, even likable, because of the civilizing influence of Laura. It’s obvious.
I rest my case.
He is only tolerable, even likable, because of the civilizing influence of Laura.
If by “civilizing influence” you mean “choke collar,” then it’s consistent with my observations.
If by “civilizing influence” you mean “choke collar,” . . .
That’s a “shock collar,” to be accurate. It is radio-controlled.
The control chip, antenna and batteries are hidden in the longish hair behind Scott’s neck. I checked this out when I was dancing with him. Then, I tried to keep my hands and other skin surfaces on parts of Scott that were not electrically conductive. No more cheek-to-cheek dancing. Pretty soon, he stopped dancing with me.
^ Lambada?
^ Lambada?
No. Salsa. It was good while it lasted. Scott knows how to move his hips.
Scott knows how to move his hips.
Lots of Snow Angel training.
He is only tolerable, even likable, because of the civilizing influence of Laura.
Boy are you ever barking up the wrong tree.
It’s entirely the other way around. My husband inspired me to become a better person.
Fortunately, I haven’t gotten started yet.
Pictures of his slush-covered mangerines will be available on the internet in early January 2011.
Icebutt. Your Delta Tau Chi name is Icebutt.