Denim Deb
More Precious than Rubies
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Yeah, but you STILL left us hanging.
Sunsaver, Livining Off-Grid In Suburbia- Happy Taconight America!
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- #42
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sunsaver
Guest
"Hey! Wow, you look terrible"
"Save the compliments for a cheesy B-movie."
" Love you too! Glass of scotch?"
"Yeah. And some morphine!"
"What's wrong? Getting the flu?"
"I don't know. I'm aching all over."
My arms were sore and getting more sore. Just touching my face hurt, like touching a bruise. Just resting my hand on my leg felt like it was being crushed in a garbage compacter. My bones ached! I had never had sore bones. I was only 33 years old, but i felt as if i was a hundred and ten with severe arthritis. It was almost as bad as the time i had shingles (nothing is more painful than shingles).
"Man, are you okay? Your face is blood red!"
"No. I think i might have been poisoned or something." The pain was getting so bad and the fever so high, that i just couldn't even sit upright anymore. The bartender, a very kind a beautiful friend, gave me two acetaminophen from her purse and sent me home. I really don't remember driving home, or going to bed, stone cold sober but delirious.
The next day i woke up late, well after lunch, and very groggy. I was still very sore, like i had been run over, then backed over, then run over again. I zapped my breakfast in the microwave, and stumbled into the living room with my morning coffee. The entire out side of the stove pipe and part of the black paint on the stove had a fine white ash. 'That burning paint must have poisoned me', i thought. I got dressed and headed to the mercantile to ask the owner if any of his other customers had had the same problem.
"So i got real sick, and i noticed this white ash on the galvanized pipe, and..."
"What! Galvanized pipe! Man you can't use galvanized stove pipe indoors! That's for outside only. You have to use black pipe for inside."
"Black pipe?"
"Yeah. Black pipe! The ash that you saw is zinc oxide! You got heavy metal poisoning! Man, It's a wonder you're still alive!
"Tell me about it! I still feel like someone beat me up with a bag full of bricks."
After that day, life went back to "normal" whatever that means. I successfully heated my house all winter. I lowered my electric bill even more by getting CFL light bulbs for everyl room, and i even cooked from time to time, using my brand new, old looking, wood-burning stove.
"Save the compliments for a cheesy B-movie."
" Love you too! Glass of scotch?"
"Yeah. And some morphine!"
"What's wrong? Getting the flu?"
"I don't know. I'm aching all over."
My arms were sore and getting more sore. Just touching my face hurt, like touching a bruise. Just resting my hand on my leg felt like it was being crushed in a garbage compacter. My bones ached! I had never had sore bones. I was only 33 years old, but i felt as if i was a hundred and ten with severe arthritis. It was almost as bad as the time i had shingles (nothing is more painful than shingles).
"Man, are you okay? Your face is blood red!"
"No. I think i might have been poisoned or something." The pain was getting so bad and the fever so high, that i just couldn't even sit upright anymore. The bartender, a very kind a beautiful friend, gave me two acetaminophen from her purse and sent me home. I really don't remember driving home, or going to bed, stone cold sober but delirious.
The next day i woke up late, well after lunch, and very groggy. I was still very sore, like i had been run over, then backed over, then run over again. I zapped my breakfast in the microwave, and stumbled into the living room with my morning coffee. The entire out side of the stove pipe and part of the black paint on the stove had a fine white ash. 'That burning paint must have poisoned me', i thought. I got dressed and headed to the mercantile to ask the owner if any of his other customers had had the same problem.
"So i got real sick, and i noticed this white ash on the galvanized pipe, and..."
"What! Galvanized pipe! Man you can't use galvanized stove pipe indoors! That's for outside only. You have to use black pipe for inside."
"Black pipe?"
"Yeah. Black pipe! The ash that you saw is zinc oxide! You got heavy metal poisoning! Man, It's a wonder you're still alive!
"Tell me about it! I still feel like someone beat me up with a bag full of bricks."
After that day, life went back to "normal" whatever that means. I successfully heated my house all winter. I lowered my electric bill even more by getting CFL light bulbs for everyl room, and i even cooked from time to time, using my brand new, old looking, wood-burning stove.
- Thread starter
- #43
S
sunsaver
Guest
Sorry, DD. "Guilty, your honor."
savingdogs
Queen Filksinger
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2009
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Wow! I'm glad you came out of that okay! That is quite the story.
- Thread starter
- #45
S
sunsaver
Guest
That was the end of the wood-burning stove story.
At this point, i would like to make an editorial note. Taking a break to: wash clothes, fix dinner, feed the cats, tend the garden, clean house, plant seeds, propagate root cuttings, or any of a host of other chores; in the middle of a paragraph- could lead to writer's block, schizophrenia or other mental problems. Because a good paragraph either concludes a good introductory declaration; or adds suspense and anticipation for the next paragraph, my posts that are being called "cliffhangers" (i take this as a massive compliment) are just a natural result of my cheesy-paperback writingstyle. It's also an artifact of what i am attempting to accomplish with this journal.
I got the idea from SavingDogs. She noted that many of these journals read like books, some funny, some dramatic, some romantic. Each journal is a "window" (pun intended) into the lives and souls of a group of disparate folks from all walks of life, with different political, religious, and financial backgrounds; but whom all share a single common goal: to be more self sufficient and independent. This forum site has made me feel like a dog who's been saved. Thanks Savingdogs!
And Thanks to so many other members of this forum, who i am actively following, cheering for, crying about, and more often than not, getting inspired by. You have all made me feel welcomed and loved.
So my goal here is to create a coherent, although divided, online journal. A journal that could theoretically be pieced back together into a crappy, pulp fiction paperback novel; which is tightly based on my actual experiences, and to the extent that it could be called a partial autobiography.
There's an old saying that reads: "Say it and forget it. Write it and live to regret it." I hope not to write anything here that i will ever live to regret; and i thank God for every old and new and strange experience, that i hope to write down into in this small, yet infinite space.
At this point, i would like to make an editorial note. Taking a break to: wash clothes, fix dinner, feed the cats, tend the garden, clean house, plant seeds, propagate root cuttings, or any of a host of other chores; in the middle of a paragraph- could lead to writer's block, schizophrenia or other mental problems. Because a good paragraph either concludes a good introductory declaration; or adds suspense and anticipation for the next paragraph, my posts that are being called "cliffhangers" (i take this as a massive compliment) are just a natural result of my cheesy-paperback writingstyle. It's also an artifact of what i am attempting to accomplish with this journal.
I got the idea from SavingDogs. She noted that many of these journals read like books, some funny, some dramatic, some romantic. Each journal is a "window" (pun intended) into the lives and souls of a group of disparate folks from all walks of life, with different political, religious, and financial backgrounds; but whom all share a single common goal: to be more self sufficient and independent. This forum site has made me feel like a dog who's been saved. Thanks Savingdogs!
And Thanks to so many other members of this forum, who i am actively following, cheering for, crying about, and more often than not, getting inspired by. You have all made me feel welcomed and loved.
So my goal here is to create a coherent, although divided, online journal. A journal that could theoretically be pieced back together into a crappy, pulp fiction paperback novel; which is tightly based on my actual experiences, and to the extent that it could be called a partial autobiography.
There's an old saying that reads: "Say it and forget it. Write it and live to regret it." I hope not to write anything here that i will ever live to regret; and i thank God for every old and new and strange experience, that i hope to write down into in this small, yet infinite space.
- Thread starter
- #46
S
sunsaver
Guest
The Garden Story:
My parents were both teachers; one a doctorate of science, the other a master of language. They were often at work, often absent, and maybe i would have noticed this fact were i not so absorbed into the details of Mr. Urzell's carpentry skills, possibly hypnotized by the familiar "pink, pink, thunk, pink, pink, thunk" of his hammer. One day, while musing on his curses and consternations, i suddenly felt moved to try and help ease his pain:
"I wanna help!"
"Darn it! Ugh! What the! Son of a ..."
"I wanna help!"
"What?!"
"I wanna help. Can i help?"
"What? No!
"Can i help? Please let me help!"
Three-year-old children are like meticulous, questioning, evil robots. They can wear down the strongest of adults, including 63 year old carpenters:
"You want to help?"
"Yes."
"Here ya' go. Put all them nails there into that board right there."
Never had i felt so important! An actual response from a real adult! Nevermind that i was being patronized, or deftly shifted out of the way of the real men's work. It was the first time that i was acknowledged as an individual human being. I spent many hours and weeks in 1972, close at the side of old, Mr. Urzell, hammering useless nails into forgotten boards, but feeling very important while i did it. And while that 63 year old man added a new garage, pool-room, and greenhouse onto my parent's home, i was busy learning about the joy and value of labor and hard work.
My parents were both teachers; one a doctorate of science, the other a master of language. They were often at work, often absent, and maybe i would have noticed this fact were i not so absorbed into the details of Mr. Urzell's carpentry skills, possibly hypnotized by the familiar "pink, pink, thunk, pink, pink, thunk" of his hammer. One day, while musing on his curses and consternations, i suddenly felt moved to try and help ease his pain:
"I wanna help!"
"Darn it! Ugh! What the! Son of a ..."
"I wanna help!"
"What?!"
"I wanna help. Can i help?"
"What? No!
"Can i help? Please let me help!"
Three-year-old children are like meticulous, questioning, evil robots. They can wear down the strongest of adults, including 63 year old carpenters:
"You want to help?"
"Yes."
"Here ya' go. Put all them nails there into that board right there."
Never had i felt so important! An actual response from a real adult! Nevermind that i was being patronized, or deftly shifted out of the way of the real men's work. It was the first time that i was acknowledged as an individual human being. I spent many hours and weeks in 1972, close at the side of old, Mr. Urzell, hammering useless nails into forgotten boards, but feeling very important while i did it. And while that 63 year old man added a new garage, pool-room, and greenhouse onto my parent's home, i was busy learning about the joy and value of labor and hard work.
savingdogs
Queen Filksinger
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2009
- Messages
- 5,478
- Reaction score
- 5
- Points
- 221
I got the idea from SavingDogs. She noted that many of these journals read like books, some funny, some dramatic, some romantic. Each journal is a "window" (pun intended) into the lives and souls of a group of disparate folks from all walks of life, with different political, religious, and financial backgrounds; but whom all share a single common goal: to be more self sufficient and independent. This forum site has made me feel like a dog who's been saved. Thanks Savingdogs!
And Thanks to so many other members of this forum, who i am actively following, cheering for, crying about, and more often than not, getting inspired by. You have all made me feel welcomed and loved.
I'm honored that what I said had such meaning for you. But I think you described this forum well. I insert the stories of my dog rescues in my journal because I wanted to write them down and save them somewhere and see what people thought. I like to change the title of the thread when the topic changes drastically so people know what to expect, so if you wanted to read one of my dog stories click on my thread when I change it to "The Story of Fido." And then when I'm discussing my chickens it will be something else, that way I don't feel like it is odd to skip around from topic to topic, sometimes journaling my activities and sometimes telling stories. But the nice thing about your journal is that it can be about anything you want (within the rules of course).
And Thanks to so many other members of this forum, who i am actively following, cheering for, crying about, and more often than not, getting inspired by. You have all made me feel welcomed and loved.
I'm honored that what I said had such meaning for you. But I think you described this forum well. I insert the stories of my dog rescues in my journal because I wanted to write them down and save them somewhere and see what people thought. I like to change the title of the thread when the topic changes drastically so people know what to expect, so if you wanted to read one of my dog stories click on my thread when I change it to "The Story of Fido." And then when I'm discussing my chickens it will be something else, that way I don't feel like it is odd to skip around from topic to topic, sometimes journaling my activities and sometimes telling stories. But the nice thing about your journal is that it can be about anything you want (within the rules of course).
TanksHill
Super Self-Sufficient
I think every three year old needs a Mr. Urzell.
g
g
- Thread starter
- #50
S
sunsaver
Guest
It was just the idea of reading them like books that i thought was so cool. Sorry if i make every new experience seem like i'm having some profound new insight into the nature of the universe. I have a thankful way of living, in which everything little thing that is new to me is suddenly the greatest thing since melted cheese was discovered.
