Intermission

I was on a roll, so to speak, last Monday night. We are 103 days out from our migration back to the frozen north, and I had just cut the studs on our living room back wall. The ones that were rotted due tocut-studs water migration from the stone wall that the studs were resting on. I believe the wood portion of the house was put up in the 1920’s, and back then, there was no such thing as caulk or weather stripping, other than tin or tar, and that’s what they used. Good for 80 years, so you really couldn’t complain much, unless you are the guy that gets stuck fixing it. As my TV buddy Red Green always said, “If they don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.” Got that going for me, the handy part.

back-wall

Yo, down here, I’m still talking. Yes, I know you are obsessed with the picture of the living room back wall. Out here on the Lone Prairie, we don’t fuss about a little construction dust. The living room was quite livable when we got the place. It had paneling on the back wall and paneling is something I just can’t abide. So, one winter day, I pulled the paneling off, and noticed water stains on the plaster. Being the inquisitive sort, I pursued the problem, and by the time I got finished, we were looking at a dirt floor and stud walls.

It was fun finding a big ole black snake curled up in the walls. My wife and I are not squeamish about reptiles, and you shouldn’t be either. Good mousers and they tend to keep to themselves. I like that in domestic help.

Getting back to the story, I was rolling along Monday night, just got the studs cut and then I pulled the pin on the “stupid” grenade. See Doofus. Yah. Went to the Dr. on Tuesday, and he told me it was a separated shoulder. I asked him how long is that going to take to heal? He told me, weeks. I said, “Doc, I’m on a schedule here.” He gave me the Dude look. You know the look. Two guys are talking to each other, one guy says something ironically stupid, the other guy just gives him a look, and says “Dude.” Doc condensed that down to just a look, and whispered “weeks” again, just to rub it in a bit. Like they say in the medical field, “you’re gonna feel a little discomfort.” Right.

So, I’m paused now for Station Identification, as it were. Gimping around, and not able to do much of anything until my right arm is healed up. No pressure, not like I can’t crack out a total redo of the living room, make a half a dozen doors and even more windows in the time remaining. No problemo.

My digital audio recorder came Wednesday. I ordered it Monday night, while sipping my pain medicine. I figured I needed a diversion to keep me occupied while I mend. I’m not a puzzle sort of guy. The Mrs was immediately suspicious that I would try to record her, catching her at a mistake, as she claims that don’t happen, much. Like I need another lump on my head.

It’s a cute little thing. Olympus VN-722PC. You put the batteries in, set the date and press the record button. Simple, even a one armed tard can operate it. We have a couple of owls and birds I would like to record. I fear I am late to the party with the owls. Once the spring peepers start, the owls stop talking. And the inevitable dog howling with the coyotes. This recorder has a huge memory and can record for hours. So far, I have nailed the Teacher Teacher Teacher bird, and no, it is not the Oven bird, as much as

Google and Bing want you to think it is. Search engines are about worthless when they get a meme or some social networking thing lodged in their binary consciousness. We also have a tweeta bird tweeta bird tweeta bird, bird.

Apparently Conway Twitty owns all references to anything with tweet or twit.

My new persona of a one armed, gimpy, bird song stalker, is going well. The dog looks at me strange, when I shush him, trying to get the illusive whatshisname on my gadget. But then he looked at me strange when I nosed dived into the gravel. Dang good thing dogs can’t talk. They can’t sing for crap either and I can’t wait to record that.

Authors Note: This is the Lad, singing with his cousins. I don’t think voice lessons are going to improve things.