The First Nut

My love of the sea and being on the water started at a very early age - both parents were obsessed with boats. They lived on one when they were first married, anchored off the Florida coastline, living on Dad's $35.00 a month Army stipend (hey, it was the 50's). So I come by my obsession honestly. When I was quite young, my father reconditioned a large wooden boat for us - it took him almost a whole year to return it to a seaworthy state, and then, when it was done there was no money for an engine. At the beginning of the summer, we would all pile into it, and row around the lake, but after a time, that lost its appeal. So the beautiful boat sat tied to the dock most of the time. But then, my father had a brilliant idea. He would modify a lawnmower engine to work as an inboard motor for the boat! Crazy you say? You don't have any idea...

All that winter, Dad built and re-built lawnmower engines, discarding some parts, adding some others, tweaking and fine-tuning his creation. When he got it just right, he mounted it under a wooden milk crate in the stern of the boat. He cut a hole for the propeller shaft and connected everything all together. He bought a large, shiny prop and attached it. For steering, he fashioned a rudder and tiller system, as the prop couldn't turn like on a traditional engine. After months of work and false starts and problems and the stuff just plain not working, it was finally ready.

We traipsed to the dock and waited eagerly for the big maiden voyage. Our high spirits and noisy shouts of encouragement as well as Mom waving a bottle of Coca-Cola around to christen "The Six Nuts" attracted a great deal of attention at the dock. A crowd gathered around us and Mom, unwilling to actually break the pop bottle, uncapped it and spritzed the hull with the soda. The crowd applauded and we were all very proud. Some of the men it the crowd asked Dad about the engine - "What kind of engine is THAT?", they questioned eagerly. "Oh, it's a Le Lawn Muer" Dad replied easily. Dad made some final adjustments and nervously got ready to start the engine. He leaned over the milk crate and pulled the long lawn-mower-engine-starting-thing. The engine sputtered. Again, he pulled the start cord and again the engine sputtered and choked. He gave an even mightier heave and several things happened all at once:

The engine ROARED into life;

the boat shot forward like a jet;

Dad fell out of the boat;

and, just as quick as the boat started,

it stopped...

Dad, from his vantage point in the water, could see the propeller float to the bottom of the lake, ripped mercilessly from its union with the shaft. "Hmmm..." he said as he climbed onto the dock after retrieving both the boat and the propeller, " I guess I need a stronger cotter pin". The crowd agreed that that would surely fix the problem. So Dad fashioned a new propeller pin and got back in the water and dove under the boat and attached the propeller back on. He climbed out of the water and back into the boat and prepared to start the engine. Again he hunched over the starter cord, but this time he braced himself for the sudden movement if the engine actually started a second time. He pulled the cord, the engine started and the boat took off like a bat from hell...Dad clung briefly to the gunwale and then crawled to the tiller. The Six Nuts was speeding through the water at probably 20 knots; much too fast for the tiller to handle. As Dad yanked the tiller to the right, it came off in his hand, and he began to spiral in an endless circle, unable to control the boat. There was not only no effective way to STEER, there was also no way to SLOW DOWN...in the planning, it somehow got overlooked to include a variable speed throttle...the boat either went really fast, or not at all.

We looked on in horror...someone started to giggle...and soon we were all laughing uproariously while Dad struggled to stop the engine. He finally got it to stop and he fetched the oars and rowed resolutely back to the dock. When he got there, he was a bit out of breath from the exertion. We all waited expectantly to hear what he would say. "Well..." he said slowly, and then began to laugh, "I guess I need to fix that."

Although he tried for the rest of the summer and into the winter months, he was never able to resolve the steering/throttle issue. Luckily, we had a reversal of fortune, and Dad was able to buy a conventional boat engine and The Six Nuts was properly set to sail the next summer.

Help!

Dispatch: "9-1-1 - Where is your emergency?"
Me: "The carwash. The carwash on Sam's Point Road. You know, the Tiger Express Exxon station."
Dispatch: "What is the nature of the emergency, ma'am?"
Me: "I am stuck in the carwash"
Dispatch: Ma'am?
Me: "I am stuck in the carwash and I can't get out."
Dispatch: "Do you mean the entrance and exit points are blocked?"
Me: (hysteria becoming evident) "No, NO! I mean I AM STUCK IN THE CARWASH. The gizmo that washes the top of my car has gotten stuck in the bed of my pickup truck and the side cleaning thingy's are repeatedly swiping the doors of the truck and there is a huge spinning swiffer like device in front of me AND I CAN NOT GET IT TO STOP! I HAVE BEEN IN HERE FOR 15 MINUTES NOW AND I AM GETTING FREAKED OUT!"
Dispatch: (long silence)
Me: "Are you there, are you there?"
Dispatch: "Is this a joke, ma'am?"
Me: "NO! Absolutely NOT. I am stuck in here - I swear! The roller thing is jammed into the truck bed. I am afraid to try and drive out. I can't get out and go for help because of the things that are cleaning the sides of my truck! I don't know what to do. I called the store a couple of times, but they think it's a prank, and they keep hanging up on me!"
Dispatch: (laughing) "Ma'am, I am sending an officer to your location. (more laughing) I'll stay on the line with you until they arrive, okay?"
Me: =sigh=

Reno Hell

So, I'm back...After a 3 month bout of craziness due to a kitchen renovation gone bad, I am finally able to sit down and complete a thought. What a time it's been - I haven't had a chance to clothes shop; the books aren't balanced; the novel isn't any further along than it was in January; the truck needs an oil change; the cats are overdue for their annual checkups; tax returns aren't close to being done; there is little food in the house requiring yet ANOTHER trip to the grocers; the garden is yet to be planted; I have run out of the fancy soaps I so love; the pile of dirty laundry is so mountainous I need a step stool to reach the top of it; I have no inkling where the keys to my house are and the algae and other marine growth on the boat's hull is as thick as Santa's beard. I have lost my new fishing reel and two pairs of eyeglasses and Hercules the cat has developed a severe nervous condition as a result of being forced to live with hammers banging, me yelling swear words in endless repetition, demolition noise, copious quantities of dust, me yelling swear words in endless repetition, plumbing disasters, paint and other noxious fumes and did I mention me yelling swear words in endless repetition? Is the renovation finished? No. Not yet. But, the refrigerator has been moved from the Living Room into it's rightful place in the kitchen, there is running water which is properly contained in the sink and drain as it is supposed to be (as opposed to spewing from the pipes) and for now that's good enough for me.

Bird Tale

We had some excitement here the other night. Around 3:00am, I am woken up by one of the cats who was in my son's bedroom and wanted to get out. So, I stumble out of bed, open up the closed door and am required to listen to the cat's litany on how terrible his 33 seconds of forced exile was. While out of bed, I decide to replenish the beasts' food bowls so they will not complain early in the morning. I am standing in the kitchen, getting the cat food when another of my cats (I have five, remember?) out of the blue, leaps from a windowsill in the dining room up the wall...I don't see what she sees, but don't really think too much about it - it is 3:00am, after all. Another one of the beasties comes flying from the hallway and SAILS through the air to the countertop and crouches as if to leap onto the refrigerator (which is crammed full of stuff). The wall leaper makes an abortive attempt at the countertop, but she is cut off by yet another cat who has woken from a sound sleep to come into the kitchen and see what was going on. I look, and perched on the handle of a basket on top of the refrigerator is a bird. The countertop croucher tenses and starts the back-side wriggling that cats do - in his walnut-sized brain, you KNOW he is thinking..."this bird is MINE!"- and prepares to leap. I yell, fling myself at the cat, the bird flies away, and all the beasts scatter and scramble, partly from fright (the bird) and partly because they now have a fresh chance at the bird (the cats). Me, I just stand there, wondering how I am going to get this apparently uninjured, healthy bird out of the house before the cats destroy it (the house).

It is by now about 3:15AM. The bird has lit onto a built-in cabinet (thank heavens it is attached to the wall), and the biggest of the cats has gotten there first and is attempting to climb up the bookcase to get to the bird. I grab the cat and quickly put him out the front door. I grab two others and they get put out as well. I now must quickly run to the rear of the house and block up the unlockable pet door, which I do with a Swiffer. Then, I run through the house shutting every door, lest the bird decide to fly around. I apparently wasn't quick enough with the pet door action, because there is somehow another cat in the house. Out he goes, along with the food bowls, onto the porch out back.

It has by now begun to rain heavily, and even though it's January, it starts thundering as well. One of the cats is afraid of thunder, so despite the fact that it is pouring down rain on him, he continues to frantically "dig" his way through the door...Another cat is howling, indignant that he cannot get in the house. Yet another, my normally docile and sweet Mama Cass I can hear growling and being generally angry because she really just doesn't like being around the other cats, and now she is stuck outside with them. It is 3:24AM.

I realize I need help getting this bird out of the house, so I go wake up Man. Out he stumbles, both of us in bathrobes, and we decide on a plan of action. Man, armed with a broom, is going to "shoo" the bird down into the hallway, where I, armed with an opened umbrella, will then deflect the bird into the vestibule that leads to the front door. Hopefully the bird, assuming he is not knocked unconscious by Man's swat of the broom, or impaled on the point of the umbrella, will fly blissfully free out the open door, into the night. So, we steady ourselves, broom raised, umbrella poised, door open, and start. The bird is gently "shoo'ed", it flies towards the opened umbrella, wings flapping furiously...it gets to the vestibule and is headed toward the open door...it can smell the sweet rain-scented night air...ahhhh....freedom...And then, whoosh..there is a flash of grey fur and a graceful leap and the poor bird, so close to escape, is snatched from the air and firmly and irrevocably stuck in the jaws of a cat...

It's 3:45AM and I am sweeping up the last of the pin feathers on the floor, and I am seriously considering getting a dog.

Dinner

So here is typical dinner conversation at my house...

Me: So, did everyone have a good day today?
Boy: Yes.
Man: Yes.
Me: Well, today I ran into an old girlfriend of mine who just returned from an around the world cruise with husband number EIGHT and their 2 children whom they adopted after their house was burned to the ground in a freak 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' incident and they were on their way to Greece because the new husband actually is a secret agent who is now assigned there to investigate some shady dealings on the topsy-turvey financial market but first they need to find a temporary home for the horses they adopted from an old racehorse rescue group...gee it was good to see her!
Me: (to son) What did you do today?
Boy: I made a candy cane so sharp that I could stab myself with it. (Man looks up with interest)
Man: Oh yea? (hereafter ensues a fifteen minute conversation between Boy and Man regarding the technical aspects of the construction and engineering of the super sharp candy cane of death, the practical applications of such a weapon and the discussion of how manufacture could be mass-produced).
Me: -sigh-