Large Mouth Bass

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Just the other day I mentioned to my wife, "I haven't been fishing in several years."
She simply answered, "Why not?"

I didn't have an answer. I'm retired. I am able to walk, or drive down to the pond. I don't need a permit. I got several rods, lures and the rest. . . Soooooo, I went fishing. The rooster-tail was already on the line. The hook was rusted, but able to hold one hooked. Several things were against me however. The reel was so dusty it would hardly turn. The fluttering spoon on the lure did not flutter. The sun was shining, (not too good for bass). There was scum on the pond. But, I flicked out the line anyway, over and over again. Not really enjoying the fishing, but the quietness and the laughing of the frogs.

I flipped the lure to within one foot of the edge on the other side of the pond. Bam! I knew right away supper was on the line.

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Termites in new furniture?

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I've been designing and building furniture out of reclaimed 100 year old wormy American Chestnut. The latest item I built is an eight foot long dining room pedestal table. The top, four by eight feet, is glued together with one inch thick window trim I took out of the old house. (see old post). 

Underside of table top

Floor joists I used.


The pedestal portion I built out of floor joists, a full two by ten inch rough cut oak timber, also out of the old house. I had removed the random width chestnut flooring, and used it to cover the floor in our new cabin. I noticed when I removed the six-teen foot long timbers that it had some termite infestation, but not enough to jeopardize the strength and looks for the job at hand. When I sawed the pedestals for the table, I placed the termite holes on the bottom so as not to be seen when the table was complete. The few holes, along with the normal defects of rough wood, I puttied to get the surface smooth.  I did little to cover the holes facing the floor. 


After taking the final product to the cabin, I left it alone for a week. When we returned, several nice little piles of very fine sawdust lay on the floor. Well, what do you think?


I had the timbers at my house for over two weeks before I started the job. I did not know anything would crawl out of it; or did it? I always thought termites need moisture. Dampness deep in the ground. I know they do not like light.


My question is: do these critters croak after a period of time? Or do they waltz around the house to check out more wood to chew on? 


  

JohnnySlide

Let me tell you about an invention that is so practical, so usable, and in most homes a necessity.

It is a toilet paper holder, mounted on the side of your vanity, that slides out for easy access, and slides back out of the way when done. No more twisting your back. No more reaching across the room. No more knocking over the freestanding holder.

You think sliced bread was a good invention, you need to check this out!

Click here:    johnnyslide.fxbiii.com
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New Novel: Red Solstice

After six years, I think the Novel is ready to be published. An author friend told me, "It's time to lay the baby down." The first draft was nearly 130,000 words. I have sharpened it to 94,000 words.

I self-published my first work, A TIME AND PLACE, The Making of an Immigrant, and sold over 3,000 copies.

This novel, RED SOLSTICE, I plan to publish electronically, as well as a hard cover version.

The subject is a WWII soldier missing in action. Declared dead by the German government, but survived eleven years of captivity.

I wrote the novel in the first person. Following is the intro page to the novel.

We immigrated to America when I was fifteen.

All was new––the vastness, the people, the language.

The old however, was etched deep in me.

I never knew my father.

He left before I was four years old.

He went to war and never returned.

Missing in action, they say.

For more than sixty years

I’ve wondered what might have been.

I had to write this book,

To cross the troubled waters,

To feel his struggles, as they may have been,

To rest my mind.

How could I find his words?

How could I portray his pain?

How could I calm my own nagging heart?

I myself needed to put on his shoes;

Step into a time that I never knew.

Yes, it is he I needed to become––

To at last get to know him.

The Groomer's Dread

Mr S, our formidable fourteen pound Shih Tzu has a “thing” with dog groomers. If it were up to him, he would not offer two cents for any of those overrated professionals. Furthermore he would say, “They do not realize that I, AM, the customer and have certain rights. Rights to be respected. The right to a suitable introduction before the attack on my dignity begins. Heck, most of those clipper whacking maniacs don’t even offer a good belly rub, much less a treat!”

Several professionals had breathed, with glazed eyes and in total exasperation, “Don’t–bother–bringing–him–back!” We realized then, a sedative may be in order before the next grooming; a sedative for the dog that is! “A half of a pill should do it,” the veterinarian assured us.

We quickly found out, half a pill did not keep him from clawing, snapping and snorting when the so-called experts messed with his fuzz around his face! A half pill may make him tolerate a napping cat in the next town, but scissors, an inch from his nose,––no way!

A whole pill, enough for a big dog to become slaphappy, was our next experiment. We administered the drug, cloaked inside a piece of white bread, one hour before the appointment with yet another grooming expert. Our daffy fellow was delivered into the waiting arms of the new pet lover!

An hour later, when the beautified package was promised to be picked up, I entered the parlor and was greeted by a bewildered proprietor. Mr S was latched in a head harness and shivering in rage. “I could not trim his toenails!” announced the groomer. “I’ve never before seen a stick of self assurance turn into a writhing pretzel!”

So, I helped hold the little fellow’s head tightly against my body while his toenails were being clipped. His eyes pleaded for mercy. I calmly reassured my brave buddy that the world was not coming to an end. Each time he felt a snip he imploringly looked up and let out a wail combined with whimpers and snorts. Howls of death filled the room. I’ve never heard such expressions of extreme agony. Much pity was evoked. Finally, tearful hugs all around ended the visit.

Mr S’s words to us, “That ought to be worth two treats!”

S's Escape to a Wedding

Our Shih Tzu will not climb through the railing pickets on our deck. However, if the ground below is less than four feet from his nose he possibly would venture a jump–– if the reward was worth it. That is why, among other reasons, a dark green, decorative wire fence was added to the outside of the pickets on the lower deck.

In the Fall of the year, when the temperature is suitable, Mr S likes to bat around a few fallen crabapples. The deck is full of them. He chews on them, throws them into the air, and even takes a bite of some until the bitterness gets the best of him.

The old groundhog who lives under the shed has a different notion about the crabapples. He sought them not to play with, but to fill his belly. One day, Mr Groundhog was in the process of scaling the wire barrier when he realized the crabapples were guarded by mighty Mr S.

I did not witness the confrontation, nor did I spot any drops of blood, but I knew a battle had taken place. The wire fence, fairly stout and plastic coated, was mangled and skinned in one small area under the rhododendron. Teeth had obviously snagged portions of the wire and pulled it outward, yet within inches the wire had been yanked toward the inside as well. I can just imagine, two fourteen pound titans going at each other hanging two feet off the deck floor, snarling, clawing and trying to rip each other’s ear off. Mr S lost his two front teeth that day.

As I mentioned, the wire fence was added also for other reasons. Well, earlier in the year, on a pleasant day, Mr S was not allowed to ride in the car with us. He was delegated to spend the afternoon on the deck. Poor thing, our faithful little spark plug, did not get his wish that day. Having been outranked, and miffed about it, he soon figured out which part of the corral offered the least resistance. It was the full hight trellis in the corner, supporting the morning glories. Venting his annoyance, he chewed his way through the lath and to freedom.

When my wife and I returned home late that afternoon we were greeted by Mr S tied to a tree in the front yard. The message on the phone explained the happenings. Mr S had wandered out onto the busy road, was picked up by a passing car and taken to town. Apparently, when Mr S’s new friend found the ID tag on his collar she returned the little guy to his family. But, only after Mr S had the privilege of attending a wedding rehearsal ten miles away. He undoubtedly made new friends there and, moreover, a little pig of himself.

As always, he was happy to see us when we rolled in; although tied to a stubborn tree. His message to us was, “In case you forgot, to ride with you would have been MY first choice!”

Sebastien the Shih Tzu

S’s bowl is empty!

Sebastien, “S” is what we call him. A fourteen pound Shih Tzu heavyweight. Always fuzzy, whether long haired like a mop or trimmed to resemble a white rat; a cute rascal at any time.

When Mr S first arrived, he soon establish himself as the dude with an attitude. My wife and I are aware that a prompt and steady supply of food and water is a dog’s pay for being cute. This of course is besides the morsels of reward received after performing his daily rituals at selected spots in the yard.

Lo, forbid it however, if a careless adult should fail to promptly fill an empty water or food bowl! The display of indignation on Mr S’s part can rival creations of the worlds most talented theater directors.

His first act is the crumpling the nearby throw rug into a heap against the wall. Next, the bowl that dared not to supply, will be raked into a corner and properly addressed until it is flipped up-side-down.

If the neglect is still not attended to within Mr S’s narrow time of tolerance, he will not hesitate to reveal his agitation by radically confronting the small waste basket. Soiled tissues soon become confetti. Dryer lint, mixed with the confetti, will adorn the tile floor in a six foot radius.

Still snorting from lint in his nose, bug-eyed from hypertension, and chest pumped with rage, Mr S will return to the living room and stand staring until one of the zombie adults gets the hint.

One can imagine if such depravity arose while the caretakers were out of the house!

Well, first, one would not be greeted with a cocked head and cute expression asking, “Where is my deserved treat for guarding the house?” Nor would our precious child be dancing around our ankles just glad to see us home. No! Mr S would have the toilet paper on display, unravelled in an unbroken stream, from the holder on the wall, out the bathroom, under the cracked door, around the corner, all the way to the kitchen, as if to say, “Incase you do not understand, follow the white, perforated road to the problem at hand! You got that?”