Sic transit gloria evinrude

When we brought the Whaler in last Saturday to have the motor removed, winterized, and stored, Glenn cast eyes askance at it and reeled off some problems, quite a few, in fact. Then his father Howie came out, and we made the decision to part with the old beast. It certainly didn't owe us anything. When the Whaler was stolen in 1995 and then abandoned, upside down, the motor was submerged for quite a while. But Howie got it running, and it has run each season since, though not without some balkiness here and there. Since we use it mainly as a tender for Autumn now, it makes sense to brin g out the old 4 HP Johnson, which Grandma can start, to get us back and forth to the larger craft. Still, it was hard to say goodbye to something that treated us so well for so long.
Of course, Howie showed us a brand-new 25 HP eTec motor. When I asked the cost, he said, "Oh, five or six... that's thousand, you know." Gulp.

On the other sde

It feels very good to be on the other side of achilles tendon surgery. There is a long recovery period - six months - but it seems I have a good chance to join the family on the BVI catamarans in November. The medical team was impressive, even those from the illiterate Maine Medical Center ("Centered Around You" is their motto still, though they have been warned to change it. Unfortunately, the recovery involves just lazing around the house with my feet up. What's the misforfune? Simply the revelation that this routine differs only slightly from the normal modus. Ah, well, retirement, you know.
Fans of Bath, Maine: here's one for you: Bath!

I married a hooker

Somewhere I read that many men have this fantasy. Well, hey, I am living it!
Some years ago, the ring for our Whaler outhaul got buried in the mud; I couldn't find it. But my wife grabbed a clam rake, and dug it out. Yesterday, I foolishly let go the winter stick for our new permanent mooring, attached to heavy shackles -- glug glug, sunk from view, and irretrievable by trolling  at high tide. Ouch!. But this morning we trolled again with the grappling hook, and Grandma hooked the winter stick after about 15 minutes. We put on another heavy nylon line, and cast her back. Ah, success. A hooker and a grappler -- who knew? Lucky me.

Summer... going... going

Ah, those were the days. Seems like forever ago.

Yesterday Gregg and Em took Autumn in to be winterized. The nights are crisp. School has started. The Eagles'defense is terrible. Must be fall.
For today's quiz: there are are two liquids on the table in the photo to the right. Which one is the urine sample? Post your answer in Comments.

Hut! Hut!

It's football season, for real. The Eagles "play" tonight -- more heartbreak and folly ahead. [Update: heartbreak and folly put off for a while!] Ah, but the roots of the game are pure, and some of those roots are pretty deep. Yesterday we were introduced to sub-peewee football, as the BAYFL Giants took on the Stingers from Turner. Unfortunately, the Stingers had obviously been eatin' theirselfs some chickens. Particularly the monstrous #21, who crushed the Giants' right guard and smashed the QB several times. But on defense, Jonas saved a touchdown, and shows great promise, if only they would move him off the line. He has the soul of a linebacker, and should establish a tradition at that position, to followed by LB, born to the task. Should be a grand season... though not for the bedraggled Birds of Broad Street.

Wrong way, stupid!

Whenever I try to insert a polarized plug into a socket, it won't go. Gotta reverse it. Well, maybe not always. I'd say, maybe 70-80% of the time, more if a power tool, as a safety measure, perhaps. And I refuse to look carefully beforehand, a matter of high principle.
The same thing happens with other plug-jack combos (like HDMI, won't go,

ever). The most remarkable, though, are USB drives. I have seven of them, and have used them fairly often. I am still waiting for the first time one of them goes right into the socket (yes, I know there is a funny lil picture on the "up" side - but sometimes the "up" side goes down).
Somewhere I have a doppelganger for whom insertion is a breeze. When I find him, I will punch in his sneering face.

Why We Live in Maine (reprise)

After I received the billet-doux to the right from the old geezers at AARP, who send me letters all the time, demanding that I sign their petitions, I went batshit, of course, but eventually rallied and called them up. After 35 minutes it turned out that Heather's system was down but I could call back. I asked for the number to call back on, as I had been routed several times to get to the favored number. Getting that took 3 1/2 minutes (WHY DON'T YOU LOOK AT YOUR OWN FREAKING PHONE).
No hope there. Then I thought the local folks who did the MRI might have made an error in submitting the claim. A nice lady in Brunswick took the information cheerily, and said, "We'll send it in again. You should be all set." Maybe so, maybe not, but at least the exchange was quick and pleasant, and local.
  In the same mail I received a bill from Midcoast Hospital for $5. This was for the copay for an office visit to Dr. J in June. It was the second time I had been billed for a copay that I had paid in cash on the way out of the office in June. Again, a real person at the other end of the phone. Tracy said that for some reason, some of the insurance companies apply to the copay to the facility rather than to the doctor. Obviously, this stupid practice costs everyone a lot of money, but, hey, America has the best medical care in the world (what world is that, by the way?). She was pleasant, took time to joke about the system, and made me, again, very happy to live in Maine.

The Passage of Time

It is a commonplace that time seems to pass more swiftly as we age. Recently I ran into something in my reading that caused me to examine this chestnut. It seems that psychologists believe that we mark the passage of time (time as in months and years, not hours and minutes) by the memories that we carry from times past. The more distinct memories, the more slowly time seems to pass. Therefore, if an old buzzard wishes to slow the apparent passage or time, he needs to create memories. What a good idea. Let's make some memories.
But not during my approaching month in a plaster cast, please.