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It could be noted at this juncture that you did not take a page from the Davey H play book when you had the chance. After all, Davey H has been booze and drug free for many happy, productive years and had thought he could inspire you despite your fears.
Instead, maybe he bored you to tears.
So now you can rest assured
that with rest and good food, dude,
you just may be cured.
In closing – if readers are not yet dozing
– if you keep up the fight,
things just might go right,
so carry on without quivering fright.
Now back to quasi reality – and a post actually drafted the day before: On the second day of a projected heat wave, Davey H was among the few who wondered if such dry heat would cook off excess moisture from saturated corn fields in the corn belt. Maybe not. All the better to cut ethanol production.
But dry heat seemed good for high bush blueberries. A pick-your-own sign stuck out like a friendly waving hand along westbound Route [censored].
Moreover, with Santa Clara ® organic lemonade and limeade on sale 2 for $3.00 Davey H exults with glee: “them’s for me!”
Then came more pissin’ rain than you could shake a well hewn freshly whittled gussied-up hickory switch at. This couldn’t have come at a better time; Davey H stayed out in it, got soaked to the skin and finally cooled off. With said cooling, all that drag-ass fatigue began to dissipate. Later that day, which happened to be yesterday, Davey got on the horn with his mentor Dan, and man, how the discussion wandered!
Yep, Davey knew Dan,
well, was DA MAN,
and many a topic was pondered.
Much time was spent in the mental ferment
with no opportunity squandered;
and though they wouldn’t miss it
and hap’ly complicit,
items were laundered.
Davey H reveled in the buzz that lingered long after the Dan dialogue, being continually amazed at Dan’s breadth and depth of knowledge. Far from just spouting statistics or regurgitating talking points gleaned elsewhere, Dan exhibited a thorough understanding of many solar cycle topics as well as petro-chemical constituents and petroleum industry historical practices. Of course, like anyone else, Dan was frequently a dichotomy. And despite his over 3 decades as a chemist for [Censored], he still contended that dioxin and DDT ‘weren’t all that toxic’.
Go figure. Maybe Dan was on to something; after all, trial lawyers have to eat, too.
Pondering these inconsistencies in Dan’s mentality-materiality profile, Davey H nevertheless had to get on with mundane life as we skew it.
First off, on July 25th, it would be a long, painfully boring ride to Akatham to drop off T at [Censored] airport.
Back on the road afterward, Davey H cursed and spat “oh, shut up! at the blabbering radio as talking heads thereon rattled on about a new slew of slated executions. ‘F*** that’, he thought – and ‘bugger all those who advocate it.’
How would the scurrilous executioners like being on the receiving end of that noose, poison needle or electric chair?
Oh wander, mind – what will you find?
Stubble on face – yes, that’s the place
to put comfort in a bind.
So go slow, mind; you’ve lots to ponder;
for full well you know you will always wander.
Back in the slow lane,
which means the shoulder,
Davey did strain
as the shoulder placeholder.
Yes, to bring you up to speed,
he was towing the splitter
therefore the need
to go much slower, which guaranteed
‘twas external wearing
on each roadworthy bearing.
But it was a nice casual drive
on Melbyrne Road,
with nobody riding his ass;
so soon to arrive and split up a load
– after he had filled up with gas.
The summer still hot,
so cool it was not,
but still he’d work given the chance;
yes, ‘twas warm, you can bet,
but no records were set
like those in Germany and France.
Now, as a point of reference, this was logsplitter #2's first road romp with her freshly installed Bearing Buddies®. Interestingly, the Big Box hardware/lawn/garden/just about everything else store didn’t carry them.
But [Censored] Auto Parts did.
“Boo bop bee bop and cool boppin’, too. . .
Pretty lady, I’ve got to be with you!”
[Pardon the interruption; this was a blues song, a REALLY good one – a rarity these days – that popped into earshot during this writing session.]
Outside, as an aside, this was log splitter #2's first road romp with her freshly installed set of Bearing Buddies®. On a side note, both sides were done, unlike his rusty-assed trailer whose left side hub had been replaced. Interestingly, the Big Box hardware/lawn/garden and just-about-everything-else didn’t carry Bearing Buddies®. But (Censored) Auto Parts did. Stainless steel barrels, no less.
Then, a trip to Venz Repair
brought four sprockets to bear.
Now for the enigma: a sprocket stigma
when Davey H got to his lair.
Four sprockets splayed out on the seat atop an old t-shirt; don’t rock it – the sprockets intact and complete aside from a little t-dirt.
Now, before this summer
expires, his non Hummer®
will have badly bald tires.
Many times you may hear him blubber:
“I get maximum life out of all my rubber.”
So meander and pull, front end. . .
With the steering wheel to tend!
Clickety-clack around each bend
with not another nickel to spend
until to the dump the old tires we send.
On another unrelated topic, Davey H noticed that his cursive was starting to look like old Bob Gurney’s. Seeing this unfortunate turn of events, it was high time to stave off – or at least offset – the degenerative conditions that precipitated such illegibility. Suffice to say it’s a good thing the grate Davey H doesn’t write prescriptions.
So first and foremost he needs so just SLOW DOWN. Nibble rather than scribble. Peck, don’t gulp. It pays few dividends when one is rushing, even though the thoughts are gushing.
Therefore, since the aforementioned
chicken scratching must be read to be transferred to the digital so-called realm, legibility remains the acme of concern.
That said, now it was Friday, and should ths entry be nominally legible, it can be transcribed forthwith. Then, Davey will tell you
what he thinks
about all those natural carbon sinks.
Or of the grass he hap’ly mowed
whilst bemoaning the closure of Brinks Road.
He’ll bend your ears,
yes, if you will;
bore you to tears
as you go downhill.
The hapless reader will be wishin’
for a little les Davey H repetition.
Yes, for this Davey H apologizes;
it’s just that in attempting spontaneity, he struggles to wrest free of the nagging re-occurrences that fill present-day-to-day existence. Life in small towns can be boring or alluring. F’rinstance, when Davey H’s siblings visited – having flown in from (Censored), they seemed bored yet mildly intrigued simultaneously. Nevertheless,
in his small town,
Davey H will profess
to throw some words down.
Today is one day after the most recent massacre on American soil, this time in El Paso. Maybe that’s a small town, too.
Now Davey H would wager that this latest shooting rampage took place on a balmy, cloud-less afternoon.
For on a sunny day so bright
a forest fire can ignite;
calm peace shattered by negativity.
And on a clear and placid night,
diseased and fetid ticks will bite.
Regardless of this, the avid skilled laborer puts her/himself to the test in this workaday world while remaining un-stressed with hopes held high – at times not very – when he goes by the cemetery.
With a big gig coming up the Sunday after next, this fellow isn’t bumming or becoming vexed. Rather he won’t blather as he happily enthuses, but stays in touch about how much damn fossil fuel he uses.
Thoughts have hovered
inside his cranium
of how we discovered
a thing called uranium.
Look how it was used
after it had been found!
Then Davey mused:
“leave that sh** in the ground.”
After mulling thus, Davey needed not to fuss, but rather get while the gettin’ was good;
as it was past time
to split up a whole bunch of wood.
This was toward the end of another sweaty day that contained inspiring repartee.
It so happened that Christian Picciolini was interviewed on a talk show, and yes, one could well assert the show was to be considered ‘liberal’.
Or so the moniker goes
when divisiveness keeps us on our toes.
Anyway, Picciolini speaks well and knows of what he speaks. Tolerance, compassion and understanding flow from him with a, heartfelt sincerity.
Thus, Davey H has this to report:
he’ll offer that cat a lot of support.
On yet another note,
2019's summer seemed short.
Of course this is being scrawled on August 10th, so the summer truncation perception may be a tad premature.
But that’s okay,
we finished the sycamore
sprouting from a hillside and standing tall.
It would take a mudslide to make it fall.
‘Oer a century old and that’s not all:
from its majesty you can get a sense
at 134 inches in circumference.
And surely as Davey H is verbose,
the sycamore struggled with anthracnose.
The crown was majestic and sported far wider a spread than met the eye – especially when viewed from the ground where everything seems smaller.
So Davey ascended and with two ropes intended to clamber and claw all around.
Leaves were full and large – no bull – so Davey was in charge; at least until the client came, then Davey was compliant, tame. But at first, Davey was defiant;
after all, he was not a big fan of topping perfectly good trees
to make way for sun, son,
passing through these.
Solar panels, his ass!
So with this in mind, he announced to John Q Customer: “this is as far down as I’m takin’ it.”
At this, John Q retorted: “well, I’m the client, and I want this done in accordance with my expectations and what I’m willing to pay for.”
Whoa. Such sudden, unexpected bluster cut through Davey like a machete, as he was unaware that John Q had such a temper.
But nevertheless he had to confess
that this would be a day to remember.
So he sucked in his belly in that vibe so smelly and squelched that flaming ember.
And it’s worthy of mention
it got Davey’s attention
when John Q so angrily waxed;
so utilizing muscle did old Davey tussle
with energy summarily taxed.
It did come to the fore the old adage of yore
of woodsmen that bore saw and axe;
and though no trees were felled,
‘twas John Q that yelled,
and those, dear friends, are the facts.
Relinquishing rage, Davey then turned a page
in a bid to begin thus anew;
No, he wouldn’t give in but rather would win – no sin – that was all he could do.
Back to ordinary life it was,
and right on track, well, just because
times were rough,
but could have been worse
if Davey continued to dawdle,
as he could be driven around in a hearse
instead of his (censored) year, make, model.
So anyway, this was a perfect time – mid-August – for front porch sittin’ and tuning in to Ron Ananian The Car Doctor. Things were reasonably stable, balmy, uncomplicated for the most part, provided the long list of to-dos was sidelined and suppressed.
Looking at the clock, it was 9:07 pm,
and time for rest,
but an editing project would put him to the test. Thus a wrest from rest would be thought best.
Summer was not quittin’
and Davey ain’t shittin’.
Grain moths danced in the dark and flitted out of sight when lights were flicked on. Those pieces of sh** will eat holes in your clothes if no grain is available. So a de-mothification plan was hatched, unfortunately long after the moths had. First in the list of operations was to ferry poultry and bird seed into the pot belly freezer
Such an arduous task for Davey the geezer!
Next, wait for the moths to roost
on the textured ceiling,
which gives a boost – an encouraging feeling.
Then trap them in a jar
and don’t need to go far
– release them all outside
where they can then reside.
Hence, ne’er for wont,
they can chew all they want.
Thus did Davey wheedle:
“it’s time to move the needle.”
After the next day’s breakfast, another gaggle of moths was released into the wild – or at least out the front door.
This shouldn’t be construed, dude,
that the skids of progress were greased;
indeed ‘twas a perpetually uphill battle that never ever ceased. Because for every 20 or so moths extricated from Davey’s living space, 50 more would soon be fluttering all over the place. With two wings and six legs, those friggin’ moths laid way too many eggs.
So this the question begs: when the worms squirm, the hapless victim knows that’s
what was eating the holes in your clothes.
At night, no blue light, please. . .before we all doze. Off topic: not to be myopic: that friendly thundershower had barometric power. Davey’s buddy Fred asked “Yo! Did you see that rainbow?”
Nope. Davey had not. And the rainbow passed.
He hadn’t forgot; his eyes were downcast.
So be it, didn’t see it,
and, well, that’s tough;
he had to do some other stuff.
The rain was welcome
as long as it only came at night.
Thus Davey’s refrain: “you’ve got that right.”
So the rain brought no pain
for the garden a gain,
and the cooling was welcome
– it helped make us sane.
Best of all the H2O infusionn was just what the hot pepper plants needed. They sprang to life with chlorophyllic aplomb. It proved a point and a canard
that Davey H was long fond of rehashing: “you can’t imitate natural rainfall.” The rain had indeed been a boon
and couldn’t have come too soon
even though the Don’t Laugh It’s Paid For Farm hands had thought their hand watering efforts were promoting foliar flora homeostasis.
Well, it was Saturday once again, and time to tie up the remaining tomato plants that had succumbed to gravitational forces acting upon them as a result of the attached water-laden ripening orbs’ increasing weight straining existing structural support members.
Elsewhere in the so-called ‘news’, the DEP had recently put out a robo-call manifesto
warning residents of (Censored) township – as well as adjacent boroughs and municipalities – of some weird kind of mosquito-borne illness. This would not normally be met with town folks’ consternation; however, the kicker was that the mosquitoes in question were ostensibly vectoring the disease and cases had been confirmed. It was time to call out the bats! Luckily, bat die-off hadn’t been an issue in Davey’s locale. Now here it was – or is – Sunday, and time for a jaunt up the detestable Ardatema Road en route to (Censored) township, where, for the sake of reference, mosquito warnings had also been issued.
It would be a fair challenge working at the venerable Chuck Burn’s place, and Davey H thought it most appropriate to devote ample hours to the effort thereby. In all, the day went well and was most productive of acceptable results. Chuck Burns, being the independent pioneer that he was, still cared deeply about this property he had bought for a song so long ago. Despite this, he expressed longing for that which he did not have: companionship. The trouble with his place, he said, was that “it’s too isolated.” Of course Chuck’s place is still serene, quiet, and with
an impressive view of (Censored) Hill.
Oh, and by the way, let’s not forget the crisp clean well water so handily culled from, well, a REALLY deep well. No sir – Chuck’s was not a ‘Mickey Mouse’ well. And what the hell?
Twas no hard sell,
from what he could tell,
it had served him well.
So now he could dwell
on his knell with no smell.
Now, on to the next abstraction:
‘twas one of those days of blues and grays
but with a lightened load;
though he rode well,
|Davey could tell
it was a damn torn up road.
Not far behind he didn’t mind
the dust from ground asphalt;
so took a bump upon his rump,
as it was not his fault.
And yes, perchance,
the state took grants
for roads in disrepair;
in the densest sticks it was the fix
on Route(?)’s thoroughfare.
Next, let’s say the very next day
old Davey took a cruise;
though he felt shi**ty
a trip to the city
was a hiatus he could use.
So without drugs but with earplugs
he mounted the auto’s seat;
then after some gas, sat on his ass
for the trip thus to complete.
Short version: this was a big city excursion
and though he wasn’t driving,
Davey was tired before it expired
and cultivated aversion.
A big city so sh***y and quite rarely pretty
was met with no high veneration;
to road tolls he pandered,
in this standard Daviation.
All told, be so bold,
he would not ask which car was tolled.
Yes, to the bigass city
he went and then he said “this is sh**y.
Yeah, NEVER AGAIN!”
Truth be told from Davey bold,
he found something quite perturbing
about all the crowd
and sounds so damn loud,
hence, aversion he had to things urban.
Getting home at 5 am,
he was weary as the rest of them.
He solemnly vowed
to remain in his sanctuary;
despite city excitement,
staying up all night meant
trouble although temporary.
Now it was getting cooler
as per the Ruler
that was Mother Nature’s fall weather;
thus Davey was bound
to keep cruising around
and to string a few more jobs together.
On September first
folks feared for the worst
with a lot of justified worryin’;
for across the water
came Marias daughter
who went by the name of Dorian.
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