Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Operation Tea Bag

Operation Tea Bag is underway. A bunch of us are tired of writing letters that are answered with nebulous form letters, and of making phone calls that are treated with arrogant indifference by unresponsive elected officials. We decided to symbolically remind them of the history of our nation’s founding and the significance of a party that took place one night in Boston Harbor, so we’re sending them a tea bag. No letters will be included…only a single bag of tea.

If you are as fed up as we are with the way the federal government is acting, please join us in expressing your displeasure. It makes no difference which way you lean politically, since the protest is bipartisan in nature. Let the individual politicians conclude what they will from the little gifts.

I would hope that some of them will put a pot of water on the stove and enjoy a cup of brew while they read a copy of the Constitution of the United States to rediscover what their duties are, and to remind them who works for whom.

While you’re at it, spread the word to your friends and the websites you frequent.

Here is the White House mailing address and links to websites where you can find your representative’s and your senators’ mailing address.

White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW
Washington, DC 20500

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Bird v. Window

I hate to do it, but I’m about ready to remove the bird feeders from our yard. So far, three birds have been killed flying against our windows, while another hit and survived. We’ve tried pasting reflectors on the windows that are supposed to scare the birds, but they don’t seem to work with the birds we have now. When hummingbirds are migrating in the fall, we always had problems with them hitting the glass, but last year the reflectors seemed to reduce the number of strikes.

One winter in North Dakota, we were standing at the window watching a Sharptail Grouse feeding on bare ground about 100’ from the house. Suddenly, the bird flew up and headed directly toward us as hard as it could fly. We jumped away from the window as the 3-4 lb bird launched a kamikaze attack on the glass. When it hit, the house shook and we were certain it was going to end up in the living room, but the glass survived and the grouse didn’t. At that speed, it probably broke every bone in its body.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Winds of Discontent

The winds of discontent are blowing and they’re becoming stronger by the day. Coffee shop conversations, letters to the editor, blog entries, newspaper editorials, and talk shows are singing a tune that should send chills up the spines of our elected officials...if they had spines.

In the past, talks of secession were something we associated with radical militias and petulant sons of the old confederacy. Not anymore. The looming specter of even higher taxes, less individual freedom and oppressive federal meddling has annoyed the gentlest of souls and infuriated those of us less tolerant of Washington’s increasing arrogance and elitism. People are seriously entertaining thoughts of individual states leaving the union, and there are advocates of rebellion in the vein of the Boston Tea Party. Perhaps neither is imminent, but roiling anger of such magnitude is an open invitation for action. It only needs to find an act, an incident, or a person, around which to coalesce. Who is John Galt?

Websites inviting activists to join the fight against galloping socialism are springing up faster than flowers in the warming sun of spring. Their theme is common…a return to constitutional governance and a demand that the federal government get out of our lives. Patriotism is no longer defined as running the flag up the pole on the 4th of July and voting in every election. Now the call is for patriots to join forces and fortunes to defeat both Republican and Democrat politicians who seek personal power outside the law of the land…that beautiful Constitution so carefully crafted by the founders of this country. In flyover country, party loyalties are taking a back seat to propriety, reason, and rightfulness.

Some groups are even coordinating plans to march on Washington this summer, an act usually reserved for leftists. I wonder if our newly elected leftist government will be as tolerant of mass marches by those on the right?

Perhaps Atlas just shrugged.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Shopping in Texas

Maybe you have to live here to enjoy this clip, but I'm glad I wasn't drinking coffee when I saw it, or I'd have spewed all over the keyboard. I borrowed it from the Old Hippie's of my favorite sites. If you like irreverent debate, give it a visit...his link is over there on the right.

Don't mess with Texas!

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Catching Up

The storm we had last weekend was worse than first reported. We had a small tree blown down and a bunch of branches broken, but it was confirmed yesterday that a tornado touched down about a mile to our north, and stayed on the ground for five miles. Fortunately, it hit open farm land, so damage was minimized, but it did destroy one barn and uprooted a bunch of trees.

Sassy is now officially senile. She's been having spells where it's obvious that she has no idea where she is, and sometimes it lasts the better part of the day. Now she is taking medication for the condition, so we'll see if that helps. So far, so good.

Yesterday was a beautiful 75 degree day, so it was a good time to start spreading the rest of the pine bark mulch I bought last fall. I moved about six yards of it into my raised beds, raked it out and pulled some weeds. My unused shoveling muscles are a bit sore today, but I needed the exercise.

The economy is slowing down in East Texas, but it's not nearly as bad as some parts of the country. The county tax collector reported that the average price of a house in Smith County actually rose 2-1/2% last year, while much of the state dropped as much as 12%. Our diverse local economy has helped keep things stable, and you still see a few help wanted signs as you drive around.

Monday, February 16, 2009


Anyone else getting fed up with the foul mouths of the reality show “stars”? I can’t understand why those people think it’s cute to be bleeped every few seconds. They’re lucky I’m not producing those shows, because I’d fire them on the spot if they couldn’t control their language in front of the camera. I’ve pretty much quit watching television and one of the main reasons is because of the trashy conduct of the cast.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with using cuss words in the appropriate situation and around the right people, but network television is not the place. Cursing should be reserved for extraordinary situations where your emotions are severely tested. It’s the rare use of curses that make them special and remembered.

One of the people on my factory crew once told me that she knew I was really angry over something that happened when she heard me say a curse word that was in common use by most of the people in the area. Her comment made my day, because that was exactly what had happened, and it was the way I wanted to portray my feelings.

Years ago, I read an article in a man’s magazine…I think it was True or Argosy. In his early teens, the author had been trying to show his father how grown up he was by cussing a blue streak in front of him. His father told him that since he was now big enough to use such words, he wanted him to learn all of them. The father then related all the words he could think of to his son and told him to repeat after him. The kid was so embarrassed that he never again cursed around his father. With a few minor exceptions, I never cursed around my father either, and with the same exceptions, he never cursed around me…and neither of us cursed around mom!

The world would be better place if the folks on those television shows would pretend they were talking around their moms.

Friday, February 13, 2009

The Old Man Drives a Race Car

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend the Richard Petty Driving Experience, and in honor of this Daytona 500 weekend, I'll post the story I wrote a few days after that unforgetable event.

"Santa came in April this year. Actually, he visited on his normal day, but I couldn’t collect until this month. Thanks to my favorite lady-Santa, I was able to experience what many race fans dream of, but few are fortunate enough to accomplish; I attended the Richard Petty Driving Experience. I was going to drive a real race car on a real race track.
The day started early with the alarm blasting me into consciousness at an unaccustomed 5:15 am. I’m supposed to be retired and the annoying ringing of alarm clocks should be only a distant memory, but today it was a welcome sound. A quick shower and shave, and I was ready for anything…well, almost. For some reason my stomach was experiencing a mild fluttery feeling. I didn’t feel like a big breakfast, so two slices of toast and a large cup of coffee would have to do. Can’t imagine why my stomach is unsettled!
The day was blustery and overcast, but it didn’t look like rain was a threat anytime soon. As the 30+ mph winds buffeted my truck on the freeway, I wondered if the wind would have any adverse effect on the racecars. Sure would hate to have my car blown off the track…with me in it.
I live only a few miles from Texas Motor Speedway, so after a ten-minute drive, I pulled my Dodge Dakota into line behind other early arrivals. Reporting time was 6:45 at the media center, and the track people were punctual. The gates opened at 6:44 and a minute later, twenty-seven clearly excited wannabe racers pulled into the track’s media center parking lot.
I was curious if the students had anything in common when it came to their car choices, so as we drove in I made a casual observance of vehicles. I found no common thread. They ranged from a four door Volvo, to a one-ton Ram diesel, an old Chevy van, a new Corvette, a Mercedes SL500 convertible and everything in between. It appeared our bunch represented a real cross section of automotive preferences, but race on Sunday; sell on Monday didn’t seem to be a truism, as I didn’t see a single Taurus, Grand Prix or Monte Carlo in the bunch.
Another thing that struck me was the age of these rookie drivers. There were more men near my age than younger. I had expected several guys would be there to get a taste of big league cars before deciding on a career in motor sports. Oh, there were a couple of youngsters who might have been taking a first step to become racers, but most were well over 40. Only one woman graced our ranks, but she didn’t seem to mind being the lone representative of her gender, and her performance on the track was indistinguishable from the men.
We got off to a quick start by registering, picking up our fire suits and watching a video narrated by “The King” himself. He welcomed us and explained a little about the driving experience. Next was a short briefing and introduction to staff members with whom we would be dealing.
By 7:30 we’re divided into four groups and loaded into vans for a rolling tour of the track. Our guide explained the driving rules, hand signals and physical characteristics of the track. He pointed out the racing groove, which was identifiable by orange paint marks on the racing surface. Then he ran the van up to about 70mph through the turns so we could get the feel of the transitions. There was nervous laughter and a few smart comments from the students, yet you could tell they were taking the instructions seriously.
By 8:00, I regretted drinking the large coffee and found that simple things like going to the men’s room are much more difficult when wearing a close fitting one-piece driver’s fire suit!
Our next stop was the in-car orientation. With the help of a racecar parked outside the media center, the instructor described what we should expect from the car, which tasks would be accomplished by the pit personnel and what we would do for ourselves. He reminded us to leave the pits at 2000 rpm, shift at 4000 and be in 4th gear when we left the apron and entered the racing line.
The biggest problem for some in the class was entering and exiting the car through the small window opening. The course is not restrictive by waist size, but if you can’t fit through the widow, you don’t get to drive.
It didn’t take long to get the show moving. We gathered beside the pit stalls, and looked over our waiting fleet. One red and Petty-blue Grand Prix served as a backdrop for individual driver photos, but the work horses were several GP’s, Monte Carlos and Tauruses (Tauri?). There were #3 and#24 look-alikes equipped with an extra passenger seat for the ride-along program. The remaining cars wore the livery of several major sponsors from the Cup and Busch series.
I was driver number 14, so enjoyed the opportunity to watch others begin the process before making a fool of myself. This waiting game was the worst part, as the butterflies again took flight in my stomach. Must have been that dang coffee!
The first two drivers climbed into their cars and two instructors led the way in their own machines. There were no radios in the student cars, but the Instructor’s had radio contact with the flag stand and pit crew. We had to rely on reading hand signals from pit crew members, instructor cars, and flag man.
Everyone was informed to stay 8-10 car lengths behind the instructor, and to watch the flag man for instructions. If he waved the green flag, he wanted you to speed up, if a yellow flew, it meant you were doing something wrong. The checkered flag was the signal that your allotment of laps had expired.
Finally, it was my turn, so I pulled a helmet over my wind-whipped hair and climbed through the window of the white #99 Pontiac. There was no doubt in my mind that I looked utterly cool, especially for a guy the age of Harry Gant! I imagined myself looking far more graceful than Jimmy Spencer as I slid into the seat, but I think I heard a chuckle or two from those in the gallery who didn’t concur with my opinion.
Once comfortable in the seat, the pit crew helped fasten the 5-point seat belt, put a foam collar around my neck, installed the steering wheel and secured the window net. One size fits all, and if your feet don’t reach the pedals, they put a cushion behind your back.
Let me tell you folks, when that harness is tightened you don’t move at all! In fact, breathing is difficult…especially when the butterflies are bouncing off the walls of your stomach. Wonder why they won’t go away?
That’s when reality finally hit. My God!…I was actually sitting inside a Winston Cup car and I was about to go out on the most treacherous track on the circuit and drive 8 laps at more than twice the freeway speed limit! Only occasionally, in recent years, have I kicked my street cars up to the 80-90 mph range, and that has been mostly at the local drag strips where they don’t have any turns!
I found myself hoping the new Bell helmet would go back on the rack as unblemished as I had found it. Thoughts of Jeff Gordon, Jimmy Spencer and Mike Skinner’s recent wrecks at TMS flashed through my mind and I began to doubt my sanity, and even worse, to question my driving skills.
Thankfully, there wasn’t enough time to whine to my pit guy about having forgotten an important, previous commitment. He had already hit the starter switch and was waving me off to fall in behind the Ace Hardware car driven by Madman-Mark, the most feared instructor on the staff. He looked a little like Tim Richmond, and you got the impression he could drive the same way. I hoped he wasn’t going to be too demanding.
Oh well, here we go!
Once rolling, the first thing that impressed me about the car was its absolute preciseness. Unlike a street car that begins to turn a millisecond or two after you turn the steering wheel, the Cup car turns at the exact moment you think about turning. The steering ratio is high, so very little wheel movement is needed to turn the car.
The Hurst shifter is smooth, solid, and moves exactly where you tell it to go. The clutch is velvet smooth, although somewhat heavier to engage than a street car. The brakes are definitely race quality and while they too take a lot of pedal pressure, they will stop the car quickly. Forward visibility is nothing to brag about because you sit so low and some distortion is apparent in the Lexan windshield. The rear view mirror is a wide-angle design, but the view sucks! Any car behind me was going to be little more than a vibrating blur at speed.
Per the instructions, I was in 4th gear by the time we exited turn 2 and pulled above the white line onto the racing area. The warm-up lap gave me a chance to get the feel of the car and familiarize myself with the racing line. Lap two saw us inch the speed up, but I had difficulty maintaining the requested 8-10 car length interval. Madman Mark was pulling away and the green flag was waving frantically from the flag stand. Speed up Dummy!
I checked the rpm’s and watched the needle slide up to 5000. Aha, I’m doing better! Quite respectable!
For some reason, my instructor pulls down low on the backstretch and I follow, as instructed. To my dismay, I watch the “ride along” cars pass us on the high side. Now I’m embarrassed! Passed by two race car taxi’s with kids and grandmothers aboard! I push the gas pedal down a smidgen more and feel a 700 horsepower kick in the rear. The car digs into the corners like it‘s on rails, and each lap comes a bit easier. Just about the time I’m getting comfortable, the checkers wave and we pull back into the pits.
Upon exiting the car, I discover I’m soaked with sweat, yet it’s only 75 degrees! I never dreamed there was so much adrenaline left in this old body, and I feel as exhausted as if I had just run a marathon…but it’s a good kind of tired.
Everyone has the same feelings. The initial apprehension is over and we are anxious for our second turn on the track. For the time being it’s back to the waiting game, but this time the butterflies are replaced by a burning desire to get back into harness and helmet.
When the last student has competed the initial eight laps, the instructors hold a critique session and the comments are universal. Everyone is going too slow. That’s normal, they say, but they expect us to improve dramatically during the next session. Madman Mark offers a few suggestions and tells everyone to tuck up closer to his bumper on their next turn. He promises to wave us off if we get too close. He does mention that after waving us off with his hand three times, the final signal will consist of only one digit. That universal sign that means he’s serious!
Back to the track! The first driver shows he’s learned from the first run, and the sound of engines on the backstretch indicate a marked increase in rpm’s. He’s also closer to the lead car and they enter turn 4 looking like Rusty Wallace following Mark Martin…well, not quite, but at least he looks respectable.
Next comes the most embarrassing moment of the day; as I leave the pits, I stall the engine on pit road! No, I’m not the only one to do it, and I remember seeing DJ do the same thing just a couple of weeks ago in a Cup race. Thank goodness, the car restarts immediately.
Back behind the wheel, I’m much more relaxed as we cross the white line with the gas pedal floored. I hit turn three at over 5000 rpm, and the car feels better than it did at slower speeds. No more bounce and the car is settling solidly on the springs. Turn four is taken at 5500 and the steering is neutral. I feel as if I could take my hands off the wheel and the car would follow the banking without my help.
Another lap and I’m at 6000+ all around the track. The instructor is backing off down the straights and I follow suit to keep from punting him with a Bristol pass… Jeff Gordon style. This time we actually catch up to the “ride along” cars but stay behind until they enter the pits. I know he doesn’t trust me to pass, and confidentially, neither do I!
I must be doing okay. As we pass the flag stand, the green flag is tucked under the flag man’s arm and the yellow is nowhere in sight. His stance continues as the laps unwind. Another indication I’m up to speed is a slight loose condition in the middle of the turns. It’s not severe, but now I know how it feels. At lap six, I begin to smell hot oil, but the oil temperature is fine and no smoke is apparent. Must be a small leak dripping on hot headers.
The final pass feels great, and the computer printout agrees. I’ve just lapped Texas Motor Speedway at 151.1 mph. No, it’s not up to Winston Cup standards, but it’ll suffice for bragging rights around a bunch of couch potatoes! I would have liked to have turned the fastest lap of our group, but had to settle for second place, by a couple of miles per hour.
By noon, we have reluctantly shed our driving suits and they hand out the course completion certificates. I’m exhausted, but would climb back in the car instantly if given the chance. Not one complaint is voiced by the drivers and lots of good-natured banter flies between the participants.
My opinions about Winston Cup racing have changed somewhat now that I can say I’ve been there and done that. The cars are much better than I thought they would be. Unlike the cars of the 60’s and 70’s, they are pure racecars with stock-appearing sheet metal, not stock-bodied cars with high performance engines. I had known that all along, but what I did not know was just how perfect they were.
It’s not difficult to drive these cars at high speeds when there are only five other cars on the track, in fact it’s relatively easy. That said, the pucker factor would be severely tested with 42 other drivers doing their best to pass you while you’re watching the flag stand through a dirty windshield, talking on the radio, monitoring your gauges and memorizing all your sponsor names for your victory lane speech. Without question, the ability to maintain intense concentration for 500 miles is the driver skill I’m going to most admire when I watch my next race.
A day after the drive, my neck muscles are slightly stiff from the centrifugal force while wearing a heavy helmet, and my left calf muscle reminds me of the heavy clutch, but dang!…I feel great! I feel good mentally because I accomplished something I always wanted to do, but was hesitant to try.
If the instructor had allowed it, I’m convinced I could have added another 10-15 mph to my lap speeds, and I can honestly say I experienced no fear once I became moderately familiar with the car and the track. Respect, yes…fear, no. That does a lot for anyone’s ego, especially for a guy who grew up in the days of Lee Petty and Fonty Flock.
The Richard Petty Driving Experience is not cheap, but certainly is fun. A $700.00 bill returns only coffee money for the 16-lap experience, and memento pictures are $35-$50 extra. However, there is one consolation; as the old saying goes…butterflies are free."

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Tornado Season

With the advent of warmer weather comes one of the few things I dislike about Texas weather...tornado season. We've been under a tornado watch all afternoon, and when I checked the weather map a few minutes ago, a line of nasty storms has moved through the Dallas area and is headed this way. First reports said there is a tornado on the ground just north of Dallas, and some damage has been reported.

If they move at their usual speed, they should arrive in our area in about three hours. Poor Bonnie will be terrified again when the thunder starts, so I suppose she will huddle with me most of the night.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Class or Crass-Which Party Gets Your Vote?

This e-mail has been making the rounds, so since I'm too lazy to write, I'll share it with you. I'm not sure about the accuracy of some of the statements, but most have been common knowledge.

"Is there really a difference between Republicans and Democrats? Judge for yourself...

Jan. 20th, 2009

1. Outgoing President George W. Bush quietly boards his helicopter and leaves for Texas, commenting only: "Today is not about me. Today is a historical day for our nation and people."

Eight years ago:

1. Outgoing President Bill Clinton schedules two separate radio addresses to the nation, and organizes a public farewell speech/ rally in downtown Washington D.C. scheduled to directly conflict with incoming President Bush's inauguration ceremony.

2. President Bush leaves office without issuing a single Presidential pardon, only granting a commutation of sentence to two former border patrol agents convicted of shooting a convicted drug smuggler. He does not grant any type of clemency to Scooter Libby or any other former political aide,
ally, or business partner.

Eight years ago:

2. President Clinton issues 140 pardons and several commutations of sentence on his final day in office. Included in these are: billionaire financier, convicted tax evader, and leading Democratic campaign contributor Marc Rich; Whitewater scandal figure Susan McDougal; Congressional Post Office Scandal figure and former Democratic Congressman Dan Rostenkowski; convicted bank fraud, sexual assault and child porn perpetrator and former Democratic Congressman Melvin Reynolds; and convicted drug felon Roger Clinton, the President's half-brother.

3. The Bush daughters leave gift baskets in the White House bedrooms for the Obama daughters, containing flowers, candy, stuffed animals, DVD's and CD's, and heartfelt notes of encouragement and advice for the young girls on how to prepare for their new lives in the White House.

Eight years ago:

3. Clinton and Gore staffers rip computer wires and electrical outlets from the White House walls, stuff piles of notebook papers into the White House toilets, systematically remove the letter "W" from every computer key-pad in the entire White House, and damage several thousand dollars worth of furniture in the White House master bedroom. Clinton & Gore staffers taking all kind of things like towels, ashtrays, plates and anything else that was not nailed down that had the Presidential Seal on them from The White House and Air force One to put on eBay to sell."

...and these examples of media non-bias:

Headlines On Inauguration Day 4 Years Ago:

"Republicans spending $42 million on inauguration while troops Die in unarmored Humvees"

"Bush extravagance exceeds any reason during tough economic times"

"Fat cats get their $42 million inauguration party, Ordinary Americans get the shaft"

Headlines on Jan 19th, 2009:

"Historic Obama Inauguration will cost only $170 million"

"Obama Spends $170 million on inauguration; America Needs A Big Party"

"Everyman Obama shows America how to celebrate"

"Citibank executives contribute $8 million to Obama Inauguration"

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Spring has Sprung

Some say the first signs of spring are when the swallows return to Capistrano, or when the buzzards return to Hinckley, Ohio, but in this part of the country, it’s when the frogs start singing in the pond out back. Last night was the first time I’ve heard frogs this year, and then today, to punctuate the frogs proclamation, our first daffodil bloomed. Spring is here!

Our old Maltese, Sassy, has been feeling down for the past two days. Yesterday, she didn’t want to eat anything in the evening, and she was disoriented when I took her out to take care of business before she went to bed for the night. She wandered around for several minutes, unsure of where she wanted to go, so I picked her up and placed her in her bed. Sometime in the middle of the night, Cricket woke me up to let her out, and on my way back to bed, I stepped in what had made Sassy sick…her undigested lunch. Nothing will wake you up any quicker than a slimy pile of dog puke under your bare foot…and it does wonders for the carpet, too. Sure glad we bought a carpet shampooer last summer.

Even after evacuating her upset stomach, Sassy still isn’t feeling well and has been sleeping nearly all day. Sometimes she gets around well and is full of vigor, but more and more often, she’s having bad days. I don’t think it will be much longer before she joins Dakota and China at the Rainbow Bridge. I just hope it happens quickly and that we don’t have to call the vet to put her down.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Day the Music Died

The first week of February 1959. The days are getting noticeably longer and the frigid North Dakota winter is showing the first signs of moderating. The February thaw, we called it. I’m a senior in high school…seventeen-years-old, know everything, and looking forward to graduation so I can enlist in the Air Force.

Our world consists of hot rods, Gidget movies, white bucks, Elvis haircuts, and cars with tail fins, but most of all, it’s the music…and then we were told the music died.

On the morning of February third, we awoke to the news that a private plane crash in Iowa had taken the life of Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper and Richie Valens. Fifty years ago today…my God, how time flies.

Besides the horror of those three young recording stars being killed, there was a personal insult to those of us who lived in North Dakota. You see, they were on their way to our state from Iowa. It was a huge event for a state that seldom attracted talent like that. We had even debated if we should try to get tickets for the concert, but Fargo was a five hour drive away. Winter travel was risky and it would have made no difference anyway, as the event was quickly sold out.

That night, all of “our radio stations” played the music the three young men had sent to the Top-40 charts. In shock, carloads of teens cruised the streets of our small town, listening to voices that would never again record the music we loved. We were a somber group and there were some tears, a few what-if’s, and lots of why's.

However, greatness can’t be destroyed by a plane crash, and neither can memories. Thanks to technology, Buddy Holly and friends still entertain the generation that produced some of the best music ever heard. And even after we’re gone, new generations will continue to enjoy the music that will never die.

In every tragedy, some good seems to always emerge, and in this one, a local singer by the name of Bobby Vee was enlisted to perform at the event that was to have featured the three stars that died. His performance received national attention and he moved on to become a star in his own right.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Catching up

"Change we can believe in"...still waiting.

After all the hype and promises, we're getting more of the same. Democrats are working overtime feeding their supporters pork...while the tax scandals continue. Time for the tar and feathers.

We had our first heavy rain of the year last night. Two inches came down in about twenty minutes amid a noisy display of thunder and lightning. The spring weather pattern is starting and I'm happy! Did I mention that I'm getting anxious for spring to arrive?

I painted the last of our kitchen cabinet doors today, so they should be ready to hang tomorrow. One more item to scratch off the honey-do list. Judy is out of town for a few days, so I might get to scratch off a few more items before she thinks of something else.

The bluebirds are busy building a nest in the birdhouse already. Since they're getting an early start, they should be able to raise at least three broods. One year, a pair started early and raised four broods in one of our birdhouses.

Other birds are getting fat at the feeders. Some are about ready to start north, so I guess they're storing up for the flight. I've already seen several flocks of Robins passing through.

Almost time to order another load of topsoil and the last seven pallets of St. Augustine sod I need to finish the lawn. That should take about three days to put down and then I'm going to sit back and enjoy playing for a while. Maybe do some things on the convertible so it's ready for cruising season.

Did I mention I'm getting anxious for spring to arrive?