Posted by: JDM..... | April 19, 2012

Senior moments_II…..

you can’t blame everything on Murphy….

I laughed when my daughter told me a funny story about a recent “blonde moment”, though I actually have no idea what color her hair is at any given time.

She was telling me about being excited to get into the yard work now that spring is well entrenched where she lives, and about her new leaf blower/vacuum/mulcher gizmo. She set it up for “vacuum” mode, connected the collection bag and slung the strap over her shoulder, and went about the business of cleaning the dead leaves, etcetera, from in and under the shrubs and out of difficult nooks and crannies. After awhile, she realized that something just didn’t feel right, so she looked around.

Why do we do stuff like that, look around I mean? I defy anyone to deny that they have ever whipped around to glare at something they tripped over or bumped into, as though daring whatever was there….if anything actually was….to pull any more such shenanigans.

Anyway, my daughter did the look around and discovered a meandering path of fresh mulch beginning somewhere over by the garage and eventually terminating directly behind her and under the unzipped collection bag.

Anybody with six decades or more under his belt should know better than to get too much of a laugh at someone else’s expense over such cognitive anomalies. Senior moments happen, to paraphrase a Sixties thing. Consequently, today, it was my turn to feel like an ass.

I had noted a while back, or imagined that I noted, that no sooner had my long-awaited tax refund hit the bank than the car ended up in the shop to the tune of nearly a thousand dollars. I limped away from that little misfortune and set about the task of bedding down the snow blower and prepping the lawn tractor for the season’s work. A faulty carburetor allowed gasoline to leisurely spend the winter migrating from the fuel tank to the engine block and oil pan. That gave a few more Ben Franklins their walking papers. Shooting for a perfect three-for-three record of F-bomb events, I bought a new battery for my ATV so I could enjoy some therapeutic time in the woods before mud season closes the trails until June.

Three-for-three trumped my delusions of communing with nature. The goddamned thing wouldn’t start. The lights came on, showing that there was juice, but not so much as a tic out of the starter. Sounds like me….

Now, I can do a pretty good job with a piece of wood and my well-equipped “shop”, but when it comes to mechanical things I’m lost, or not interested, or both. I’m strictly plug-and-play in that department. I shook my head and walked away, since I was out of spare cash anyway and the ATV isn’t a priority, especially for one living in a hundred year old house.

That was three weeks ago. Yesterday, I decided it was time to call the ATV guy and get the damned thing fixed. Visions of vanishing Ben Franklins and expanding credit card debt ran around the inside of my head like a couple of those stunt motorcycle riders in a spherical cage at the circus.

He came over this morning to haul the silent ATV back to his shop, but walked over to where it was parked under a tree first just to give it a once over. While I was yammering on about how I probably put the battery in wrong, yadda, yadda, yadda, my ATV sprang to life and sat there purring away at me like a 400 pound middle finger.

“What the…..?” I stammered.

“…You put the battery in right….,” he smiled, “but you didn’t put the kill-switch back to ‘run’…..”.
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F-bomb.
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Go ahead and laugh, Staci. You’re up next…….depending on what color your hair is.

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